


Where the Wild Things Are

by FortaVer, sanitysrebellion



Series: Borrowed Children [1]
Category: Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mild Language, Proper Chosen Tagging As They Appear In Fic, That Nebulous Time Between 02 and Tri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2020-10-14 22:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortaVer/pseuds/FortaVer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanitysrebellion/pseuds/sanitysrebellion
Summary: “Looking for: brave humans for an impossible quest. The Collapse is coming, and we need help to stop it. Respondents must have the ‘right stuff.’ We recommend you bring your own tools and snacks. Other materials will be provided.Thanks in advance!Your ever-faithful MCs, Whitschapmon and Snoodschapmon”The stories say the Digidestined will save the day from anything, no matter how grim. And things have been grim for a long time. But sometimes you get tired of waiting and decide to borrow some humans of your own. Which is how eight strangers wind up caught up in a strangely familiar world.Will they be able to survive their new reality? Or will they, like so many others, fall?





	1. Sheep in a Storm

“Uuuelcome to the best place to be on the en-tire continent!” “On account of e’rywhere else falling to pieces.” Witschapmon--” “An’ Snoodschapmon--” 

_ “Bringing to ya today’s stellar entertainment.” _

“Field today is a good woodland mix--” “Trees an’ brush, creeks an’ holes--” “And the weather is low ground clouds. Name of today’s game: keep away!” “As in, ‘keep away from the pit boss.’ So get good, scrubs.” 

“Big thanks to Scriermon for providing us close coverage of the action on site. And Castmon, piping it out across the continent.”  
“You won’t want to miss a second.”  
“Here’s our first round of contestants: a mixed team of rookies and champs, 5 in total.” “If they’re lucky, one of the little ones’ll make it.” “Timer starts the moment they step onto the field: 20 minutes overall, 8 minutes before pit boss enters.” “Trust when we say you’ll need all eight.” “Do your best to hide--” “It’ll give ya the chance to run when your teammates get caught.”  
“Everyone ready?” “Too bad, get in there!”

**_“__MATCH, START!”_ **

* * *

With a sigh, the Schapmon listened to Castmon complain about ratings. Ratings were down. Ratings were always down.

Sure, fair -  _ numbers _ dropped daily. But percentages stayed high.

A fact that another board member stubbornly clung to in the ensuing argument.

No one would say it aloud, but they knew the reason for the front. As board head, he’d be responsible for sharing his findings with the Arena’s master. And Legatemon had long been in foul spirits. As much as possible, he wanted to offer news that at least  _ sounded  _ good.

Legatemon didn’t care if the substance was lacking, so long as it sounded good. He could then share that news with the masses and keep them relatively calm.

Scriermon lurked in the room, gazing into one of her mirrors - deeply invested in whatever she spied. She wasn’t a board member, but they let her stay anyway. She never said much, and no one could begrudge her for hiding out…

So no one expected the interruption.

“I’ve lost another array.”

Silence followed, then Snoodschapmon worked up the guts to ask. “How close?”

Scriermon shook her head and produced a series of mirrors, so all present could see. “Outer edge of the Rending Pits. Nearer the Taiga than here.”

The tension didn’t pass, but it lessened. Until Whitschapmon reminded what they didn’t want to hear. “Won’t be long now before it crosses…”

Another short fuss from Castmon - grumbling about numbers again. And even Snoodschapmon couldn’t find the energy to butt heads over it. Numbers were down and dwindling every day. Just weren’t enough ‘mon to do everything.

Couldn’t watch a match if you were forced into one. Couldn’t be in one if you were gone.

“Celestials preserve us, was this our lot all along? This isn’t supposed to  _ be _ .”

The outburst - the board head, this time - bordered on a whimper, further agitating Castmon. He huffed. “You’re all too trusting in powers beyond. They won’t help us. No one to do that but us.” 

While Castmon got into it with everyone who took the bait, the Schapmon shared another look, determination flooding their system. He was wrong. Help would come. It had to.

Even if it meant dragging it here by its ears.

* * *

The conditions were right. Winds howling, sea boiling, data flowing in excess, always just out of reach. Unfamiliar script scrolled through the sky, illuminated by flashes of lightning. Organized in blocks, it meant something to the trained eye, but to Snood and Witschapmon might as well have been flocks of migrating BlackBirdmon.

“Are ya sure--” “This’ll work.”

“And we’ll be--” “Okay. Probably. Maybe. Jus’ shut up an’ gimme a boost.”

Witschapmon grimaced, but knelt so Snood could clamber up onto his shoulders. Then came the balancing act of standing up without pitching him forward. It took a few tries, but once they got it, Snood eyed the quickening script.

“Alright. Take your sword an’ stick it in the ground.” “And then what?” “An’ then we say it like we practiced, okay? Shut up an’ stick your sword in the dirt!”

Grumbling Whit did as told. Snood mirrored by pointing his club at the data overflow.

Then things got wild.

A crackling roar. A bolt of energy. The ground quaked. The line held, but it wouldn’t last long.

> _ “New message to: Catalysts... Subject: Arenaaa Help!... Body: Remember us down here? ‘Cuz we sure remember you and we need your help again. Now more’n ever. Please please PLEAAASE come back to us and lend an MC a hand? The sooner the better!.. Send!” _

The line broke, surging even more energy through the Schapmon. And when it passed, it had fused them. 

Four Schapmon tall, hooded, and two-faced, the new ‘mon swayed in the wind. 

“Ugh, did it work?” Came from the laughing mask.

“It fuckin’ better ‘ve,” came from the snarling one.

They sighed in unison and turned away from the frantic sky-writing and the sea.

_ “The boss is gonna smack us for this…” _


	2. Notes from TK

> _An excerpt from the writings of Takaishi Takeru on recent events:  _

We probably should have realized the trouble would be big when all the tech troubles hit the news. Big, weird ones, too. The kind you couldn’t explain away.

People still tried. Can’t say I’d fault them for that.

Then we find out the glitches were happening all over - and not just in Japan. People were on the brink of panic. Fingers pointed left and right, ‘your hackers are meddling with our national security,’ tense meetings behind closed doors probably. The usual stuff.

So we go in on the Digital World side and hear the Sovereigns are dealing with the remnants of a server collapse. Not the main one, thankfully, but one large enough to threaten the entire continent. Izzy pulls some strings, we fight some baddies trying to capitalize on the chaos, and we stabilize things. To keep things that way, we had to separate back to our own worlds for a few months.

Worrying, but doable.

Then? Nothing. The good kind. At least at first. Then we didn’t hear from Patamon or Gatomon for a while. 

Nobody else was worried at first, so I told myself that neither was I. 

The rest of the digimon said those two had been their Mega levels for a while and were using it to help big-time in the Digital World. They, and a guy called Cherubimon, formed 'the Celestial Trio' and had taken it on themselves to monitor and regulate the zones as best they could. Things were pretty peaceful because of it.

I was proud of them, hearing that, but I couldn’t ignore my worries anymore.

Turns out I wasn’t wrong.

Two weeks ago, Izzy said he’d caught a weird blip while he was monitoring things. Weird, but not dangerous - everything was still running fine and we still had contact with all the terminals.

Next time we talked with the digimon, though? They weren’t quite themselves. They’d… forgotten a few things. It came back when we reminded them but still. Pretty concerning.

The worst part was, they couldn’t quite place when they’d last seen anybody. And when we asked about Seraphimon or Ophanimon, they were shocked. Nobody had heard from them in forever. The Celestial Trio had gone to investigate something big and then disappeared.

We all agreed, that wasn’t good.

Everyone came together and we’ve been back to our Computer Club shenanigans ever since. It’s not gears, spires, or spores, but we keep looking. We’ve always been pretty good at squaring off with impossible odds and coming out on top…

But...

I’m... starting to worry we might never find them. Everybody in the Digital World knows who they were, the things they did… They made their mark on so many places, but it’s like they never settled down anywhere. One group points left, one points right, and there’s always somebody looking up or down like that means something.

… Okay, to be fair - in the Digital World, up and down _ are _ cardinal directions, but still. It’s frustrating….

I just hope that when we find them, they still remember us. Months for us is just so much longer for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for the 'prologue' chapters! Up next begins the proper introductions for the kids and my co-author and I just *can't wait* to show them off to you guys. We hope you like them as much as we do!


	3. Uri

He had covered the page in charts and diagrams and all manner of arcane-looking scribbles. Statistics equations, he jammed into the margins. Words, when legible, seemed to follow some kind of personal shorthand impossible to sort through. 

Not the current section, however:

_ Dreamed potential solution for [illegible], already noted, but oddity about dream gives pause. Unsettles, rather. Concl: more sleep and less work before it. Oddity: too vivid. Was not just problem-solution workthrough, as in lucid dreaming; had other actors. Kind of nice. Consulted them on problems of growth and improvement. Strangest part: setting. Gladiatorial combat; big arena; changing obstacles within to further hamper fighters. Exciting. Was approached by many, and assisted each in turn. [illegible, long string] want [illegible]. Their emperor (Legate?) acknowledged my work. _

_ Hope I can recreate it or naturally come upon another like it…  _

More illegible notes followed, then an uncharacteristic doodle. Something vaguely like a chained deer with a big halo of thorns.

“Urien.”

The severe tone in her voice was not enough, at first, to make the boy look up from his fervent scribbling. Her approach, however -- intent echoed in every stately click of her designer heels against the cold marble floor -- brought his eyes straight to hers.

“Yes, Grandmother?”

Her eyes narrowed and Uri braced internally for the scolding.

“Don’t take that tone with  _ me _ , young man. My husband might tolerate such blatant disrespect, but I most certainly will  _ not.”  _

That his tone hadn’t held much more than caution, and that his grandfather would tolerate even less were irrelevant. He capped his pen and turned away from his desk, eyes cast downward. The appropriate deference in gesture and voice.

“Yes, Grandmother.”

Cowed. As she loved so dearly.

“Now get your shoes on. We’ll be late to dinner.”

He swore he could hear her purr. Stifled a laugh as he retrieved his socks.

To him, she sounded more like a bullfrog than a cat and it would be wholly inappropriate to say, but the look on her face would be priceless. Then he let the thought fade and fell dutifully into step behind her. 

One day, he’d let them have it, but today was not that day.

* * *

“See? You just had to try something a little different. New perspectives can work wonders!”

The strange new monster admired its wickedly hooked claws and the futuristic blasters holstered at its sides, stood a little taller as it realized it had nearly doubled its former height. When it swaggered off to its friends, Uri couldn’t help smile.

Since his debut, he had become quite popular among the monsters here. Changing their form was in high demand, and he was just as sought after  _ between _ matches as he was for the matches themselves. Excitement and gratitude abounded. Some fawned over the boy. 

Even those that were wary couldn’t take their eyes off him for long! 

Many of the small were wary, as with a hairy little pig that scowled everytime he looked at it. It made sense, since the small were often weak and the weak were so disadvantaged here. They were probably used to being kicked by anything even slightly taller than they.

One of them, Uri filed away for later: the smallest deer he’d ever seen, even though it stood on two feet. It was always nearby, watching with an expression Uri couldn’t place but seemed familiar nonetheless.

Some, however, were just pushy…

“Alright, human. I’m next.” 

This stylish, vaguely vampiric beast stepped over a few of the small, edging them out of their place in line. Another - Champion, they had called themselves in that state - made to object but thought better of it. 

Slot assured, he smirked down at Urien.

“Vragitormon.” 

Uri appraised the newcomer, expression a mix of curiosity, calculation, and... more.

“What can you do?” 

His voice suggested that one of the swirling emotions might be disdain, but he kept it veiled enough to sound like caution. Thankfully Vragitormon relished the chance to show off. Especially for cautious sorts. 

As the proud monster turned to the gathered crowd, Uri watched him select a suitably wary target. Watched him fire off a fast and powerful attack the other couldn’t dodge. Watched the other barely weather it and those closest to it scatter or be damaged by the blast. 

“Hm. Deceptively fast, strong... You favor the blitz… and are probably decently tough, since none present will risk a challenge. It’s no surprise you enjoy your current standing.” 

Soft but cruel, Vragitormon laughed. 

“Naturally.”

Uri remained unimpressed, continuing only after he’d quieted.

“Unfortunately for you, it’s also no surprise that you have peaked.”

In that brief pause, the boy watched the Champion’s face twist from smug to spluttering rage. Much like Baba Yaga when delivered a clever enough insult. Uri hesitated, and regretted it immediately. He’d lost the initiative.

“You insolent--”

“What you need can’t be found--” he tried to interrupt.

“-- wretched little--”

”--here. I can do less for you now than this place has already... However--” 

“--brat!”

Hauling the boy up by the front of his vest, Vragitormon hissed something more, but Uri didn’t hear.

It really was a curious thing, how these creatures worked -- how they took in energy and converted it to mass and back. How they changed state under the right circumstances... Curiouser still that he could see when they were primed to change. Something like watching water in a pot just before it came to a boil. Or the spread of micro-cracks across glass just before it broke.

As for the gathered crowd, three of them were primed and another had already changed. It made itself known with a series of deep grunts, a strong grip on the offender’s arm, and a squeal of displeasure.

“Listen here, ye ponce. Lest y’want bein’ ripped te pieces, ye’ll put th’ brat down.”

Vragitormon spared the pig-headed beast-man half a glance, eyes sweeping over his cruel-looking spear. Then an epiphany:  _ all _ eyes were on him. And each met his gaze. The ones previously cowering? Their eyes held the most wrath.

In that moment, Uri saw it - the wavering strings in Vragitormon’s form, glinting dimly. He almost didn’t register the Champion’s fear. Not until the Champion spoke.

“...Very well…”

Making a great show of how gently he did it, the elfin jerk set Urien back on his feet and turned away. And Uri watched the strings stabilize and fade.

“How unfortunate...” 

Uri couldn’t hide the irritation in his voice, and the assailant paused. 

“It appears I was mistaken. Although,” he scoffed. “You will not like to hear what I must share.”

When Vragitormon spun to face him, the boy didn’t bother hiding the malice in his eyes. The absolute glee with which delivering this news came. 

Uri imagined that, perhaps in such moments, he, too, might be on the brink of change. A massing of energy waiting for its catalyst. He wondered what he might need; wished he could see it like he could for these creatures. Wished he knew the exact moment when personal growth could be realized.

“What you need, it seems, is more of _ this _ .”

“Excuse me?”

“Embarrassment. Except... more intensely. What you want, you cannot achieve without suffering a truly  _ humiliating _ defeat.” 

A rumble passed through the gathered crowd and, again, Vragitormon became aware of their vicious eyes. The desperate hope. The weighing of odds. Calculations coming up closer to their favor.

Uri smiled.

“Perhaps, even, a string of them…” he shrugged now, finally releasing Vragitormon from his withering gaze. “Hard to say.”

The crowd pressed in closer - tens of monsters suddenly willing to try, just to see their tormentor put in his place. No amount of skill or flair could save him from such uncertain odds. And he wouldn’t risk such uncertainty.

“Ah. I... See.” 

Vragitormon bowed his head and excused himself, giving the crowd a wide berth. Uri noted the glow had returned, stronger now, but paid it no further mind.

Once he was gone, they came to check on the boy, fussing at Uri’s face and vest and hands. He endured it without complaint, assuring them he was fine, but it took a bit before they were convinced. If not for how genuine their concern, he would have resented them for it. He hated being pawed at like he were some porcelain doll.

“... That was not the end of my bad news, I’m afraid.” Uri looked to the trio from the crowd, and they paused. His demeanor, however, was entirely less hostile. “It seems that what you need is just as simple, and equally unpleasant... You would need to actually see harm come to someone you wish to protect and, I suspect, it must be more than cosmetic.”

Though disappointed, their reaction was polite and they went to their own corner of the room to process things. Uri watched them go with a twinge of regret. 

A puzzling emotion, here, but not enough to dwell on. He threw himself back into consulting, until there was no one left asking. Most left pleased, some a mix of sad and angry, but none seemed to blame him for the feeling. Before long, he stood apart - each creature having turned to their group of friends or followers, discussing their hopes for matches upcoming. 

Hopes that made Uri proud to have shared his knowledge.

Then one left its conversation and approached Uri for the first time since the boy had arrived.

“A word, human,” the small deer began and Uri nearly shook his head. There was nothing that could help him at present and-- He continued past the boy without skipping a beat.

“A warning, really.” 

Caught flat-footed, Uri followed him to an alcove nearby. One, he would discover, was excellent for hushed conversations - sound seemed to bounce back, making it too quiet to make out even from a few paces past the entrance.

The deer’s first words were swallowed by the effect, and it took a moment for Uri to catch up. And he found himself floored. 

The deer was  _ scolding _ him.

“--take greater care. Especially in handling Nightmare Soldiers like Vragitormon. You will not always have a crowd at your back, and you certainly won’t always face foes who have such a strong instinct for survival.”

“Which means?”

Seconds ticked by as the deer watched. Maybe gauging how genuine the question.

Finally, cautiously, “You have yet to meet one of us as driven by spite as you are… accustomed to seeing in humans.”

“... I… see.”

“You don’t.” He insisted, fixing the boy in a puzzling stare. “Not yet. But you will.”

The big pig huffed from just beyond the alcove and Uri was forced to mask a flinch with curiosity and a smile. 

“Hu--”

“Don’t bother. I’m not here fer you…” He stepped past the boy, rumbling, “Pudúmon.”

The deer acknowledged him with a nod. “Orcmon. Enjoying your new form?”

“Oh, stuff it. Ye keep talking like these humans ‘re better’n meat fruit, but if they’re anything like this one, they’ll still be useless te us.”

Uri bristled at the assessment, but responded cooly. 

“Hard for a dreamer to be useless to the dream.”

Orcmon looked ready to rip into the boy, verbally, but Pudúmon beat him to the punch. 

“I assure you, this is no dream. This place, no safe little playground. If you continue to treat it as such, you will make a number of people deeply unhappy - yourself included.” 

Uri’s skeptical hum drew an exasperated sigh from the deer.

“It is good of you to take another’s words with salt, but I wish you would apply such critical thinking to your surroundings as well.” 

He recovered his earlier demeanor. Distant. Calm. “When you… wake… from here, my point will have been made. I hope you take this more seriously, then.”

And before Uri could ask what that was supposed to mean, the deer hopped up and snatched a snarled thread from off his vest.

“How--”

“Come find me when you return.”

The room changed and Uri blinked a few times, turning slowly to take in his own pale walls. Sterile, uninteresting, broken up by sturdy hardwood shelves, his personal desk, the old-world canopy bed... 

Then he closed his eyes, hummed a note and pinched his palm, willing something to change. A splash of color or pattern to the paint. A brightening of the existing drapery. Anything. 

Reality, rudely, refused.

Disappointed, his hand went to trace the threading of his vest and he paused. A pair of holes there, and a run in the pattern. Exactly where he’d been hauled up by Vragitormon.

“Curious.”

Sensibility said that the dream reflected reality and not the other way around. He must not have noticed the tear earlier, and became aware of it as he’d fallen asleep. Or his hand brushed against it at some point during the nap and the detail worked its way in.

Normally Uri would have to agree with sensibility… Except, he remembered neither dozing off, nor waking up, and certainly not standing from his chair. And where would he have caught the vest on something between his Grandparents’ inspection and now? Certainly not the desk, worn smooth from three generations of use and fine care.

Standing gave way to pacing, which Uri interrupted with a flurry of motion. Vest torn off and ferreted away someplace safe. A new vest selected to replace it in the meantime.

He’d have to explain the damage another day, pack it with him on a team trip and lie -- say it got torn rough housing or something. The team was very rowdy when they won, after all.

At least then their disappointment could be pushed off onto something they wouldn't disparage so harshly… and something he wouldn't feel as badly about when they did. Still… 

Maybe he could… just lose it somewhere. Never have to explain a thing. Out of sight, out of mind and-- 

“Urien.” His grandfather’s voice: stern, demanding respect. One word, every bit a command as it was statement.

“Coming, sir.”


	4. Kiran ('Little K')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, in particular, might be a little confusing but it shows the thought process of the character pretty well. As for the whole of things, it might be a little vague or confusing as the characters get introduced but once they're all together things will start to be explained more clearly.

“Kiran!” His mom fussed, prodding at the goose egg on his forehead. “What happened?”

“Nothing big; ’m okay,” the boy squirmed away as he climbed into the backseat of the car. 

The success was mixed and short-lived - his dad tapped in without taking his eyes off the road. “Is somebody at school bothering you? I’ll set them straight.” 

The man was absolutely serious and, as much as Kiran loved him, that was the last thing he needed.

“ _ Oh wow, Kiran, your dad really told Jimmy! Is he gonna do your homework for you, too? Can you get him to do mine?” _

He’d never live it down!

“No. No, I--” 

The day’s events flashed through his head, and ways he’d try to explain them. Especially the weirdest one. Not a chance he could explain  _ that _ but that didn’t stop his brain from trying.

_ “So you’re a... human? … You don’t look much like a great warrior...” _ he imagined starting, and the rest played out before he could stop worrying about it.

_ I’m still all wound up from getting there - wherever there is - and I don’t see anybody to have said that… It’s a hall that looks like a set from the movie Gladiator, except busted and covered in graffiti. Dusty and scrungy and gross. I think I’ve spun around like six times before I finally admit it to myself. There’s nobody there, but they said something and they said it like it’s supposed to be reassuring. _

_ “You do look scared, I think, and-- Oh! Oh, I  _ ** _am_ ** _ sorry.”  _

_ So now the voice has a body and that body is… a plush toy. _

Naturally, there he’d pause for dramatic effect. Maybe gauge how they were handling it. Start laughing it off, because that’s absurd! C’mon, laugh about it, too!

_ Alright, that’s-- I can’t even with-- he’s a walking, talking plushie! In cowboy boots? Whoops! I’ve finally cracked. Leave a note for my folks, so they know where I went when they take me away to the funny farm.  _

_ But that’s not all! _

_ “I forgot I’d… ahrm. Yes. Sorry..I ah, hmm… You don’t look so good. Are you alright?” _

_ And I clap my hands together, ‘cuz I gotta keep it together and I’m answering before I know what I’m gonna say (as usual). But no biggie! _

Cut! Too personal. He’d have to leave out those little asides, and ignore the budding questions and fussing… Dial back the edge in his voice, aaaand - zoom camera 1 for reaction.

_ “Yep! Doin’ great! I’m talking to some kind of cartoon ferret and I still don’t even know where I am, but I was supposed to be starting detention helping out the librarian and this is fine because I don’t even like the library that much so this was a convenient escape into dark Narnia.”  _

_ I laugh a little, there, and throw in a, “How are you?” _

_ You know, to be nice. And he doesn’t know what to do with it! _

_ “I… I’m sorry?” He blinks at me with dark eyes before he blinks out of sight again. And he’s gone long enough for me to regret oversharing.  _

If he were lucky, maybe he could reword some stuff - make it sound like he’d made a new friend while shirking detention someplace normal. But the hypothetical conversation kept rolling. 

_ “I…Sorry. Surprisingly well. Thank you for asking!” _

_ He almost looked like he might cry… Then he smiles and holds out a paw... claw? ...To shake, I guess. Says, “I’m Wheezmon.” _

_ So I roll with it and give it a good shake. “Hi! I’m Kiran.” _

_ ”It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kiran. Good luck out there.”  _

_ And just like that, I’m back in the library, stumbling out of the metal-detector thing, and I know I look crazy because the other librarians’ assistants are looking at me sideways. So I open my mouth to say something but all that comes out is a laugh and I think one of them started walking over but I really don’t know because that’s about when I decide it’s time for a nap. Today’s too much to handle, but at least my new imaginary friend is nice! _

Yeah, no. No. That was  _ not _ what he could tell them about his day. And he’d taken long enough now where his dad (being super risky!) kept glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

Time to lie! 

Kiran sighed, blinked at his parents, then shrugged. “I fell, I guess? Nurse said I fainted-- dehydration, maybe. Orrrr I mighta held my breath to pass out and get out of detention. I wouldn’t put it past past-me to do it. He’s a sneaky little bug.”

His folks scolded him -- those kinds of jokes weren’t funny, and he should really try to take better care of himself, and was he serious about detention? But it wasn’t long before they dropped those questions in favor of others. Asking after friends, mostly. Jill and Francis and Korridan; Amarylis and Jaime; other names he was surprised they remembered, considering he’d only mentioned them the one time.

“Oh, yeah, last I heard they were alright -- most of them are in different classes now, and Kori moved schools.” Not exactly a lie, and easy enough to steer the conversation back to other things: comics he was big into, the latest episodes of his shows. Sports teams... Extracurriculars he could go for…

“--and did you know the school has a kiteboarding club? They asked me to join -- said I could probably get some sweet speed and hang time, ‘cuz of how light I am.”

He watched the tension line his parents’ faces and nodded sagely. “I turned ‘em down though…. I’m more of a parkour kind of guy.”

**That** joke didn’t go over well, either, but Kiran just wiggled in place and turned his attention to the world outside the car. Street signs darting past, crowds wandering like big herds of birds. That birds did not, in fact, form herds was not lost on him. 

But it was far from his mind.

One of the electronic billboards had glitched into an old ad - one about a long-dead MMO. It looked scarily similar to that break from reality: a venerable Coliseum, except back when it was still loved. 

Then it was back to what it was supposed to be showing and Kiran gnawed his upper lip. 

He tried to dismiss it all as a funny hallucination, but worry wouldn’t let him.

Just what  _ had _ happened today?


	5. Tam

[date deleted; 01:27:53; user:chessKINGday]: You back? Did you do it?

[date deleted; 01:28:04; user:whiteknightnight]: Never left. Almost?  
[date deleted; 01:28:13; user:whiteknightnight]: Yeah. And with that, I’m done.

[date deleted; 01:28:25; user:jackal_of_trades]: lol  
[date deleted; 01:28:33; user:jackal_of_trades]: they won’t know what hit ‘em

[date deleted; 01:28:55; user:whiteknightnight]: ha. Nope! They’ll be chasing the white rabbit for weeks… Longer if they’r real amateurs.   
[date deleted; 01:29:03; user:chessKINGday]: Youidn’t take long, so probably are? Already sent the write-up to relevant parties… Should be updating their network soon.  
[date deleted; 01:29:25; user:jackal_of_trades]: lucky we picked them when we did, huh?  
[date deleted; 01:29:37; user:jackal_of_trades]: woulda sucked if those jerks got in and THEN we worked our magic. too little too late.  
[date deleted; 01:29:39; user:jackal_of_trades]: yuck  
[date deleted; 01:29:43; user:chessKINGday]: Yeah, yuck.  
\--more chatter between these two goes for a minute or two--  
[date deleted; 01:30:39; user:jackal_of_trades]: lmao  
[date deleted; 01:30:54; user:jackal_of_trades]: dude, wouldn’t it be funny f they got in AFTER? give Tam get a rea l joust goinG!  
[date deleted; 01:30:57; user:chessKINGday]: Yooooo!  
[date deleted; 01:30:58; user:chessKINGday]: Tam  
[date deleted; 01:30:59; user:chessKINGday]: Tam I’m gno  
[date deleted; 01:31:06; user:chessKINGday]: sorry, gonna find you an opponent; it’s been forever since you had a real challenge. We can time it and see if they break the record!  
[date deleted; 01:31:10; user:jackal_of_trades]: yeah boiii!   
[date deleted; 01:31:58; user:chessKINGday]: @whiteknightnight: Tam?

[date deleted; 01:33:15; user:whiteknightnight]: Hold on.  
[date deleted; 01:33:16; user:jackal_of_trades]: k  
[date deleted; 01:33:16; user:chessKINGday]: Kk  
[date deleted; 01:34:18; user:whiteknightnight left the chat]  
[date deleted; 01:34:19; user:jackal_of_trades]: k?  
[date deleted; 01:34:20; user:chessKINGday]: … Weird.  
[date deleted; 01:34:18; user:whiteknightnight joined the chat]  
[date deleted; 01:34:20; user:chessKINGday]: Did you restart?  
[date deleted; 01:34:20; user:whiteknightnight]: THIS LINE IS CURRENTLY BUSY, PLEASE HANG UP AND TRY AGAIN  
[date deleted; 01:34:23; user:chessKINGday]: Not funny.  
[date deleted; 01:34:23; user:jackal_of_trades]: dafuq?  
[date deleted; 01:34:23; user:whiteknightnight]: THIS LINE IS CURRENTLY BUSY, PLEASE HANG UP AND TRY AGAIN  
[date deleted; 01:34:24; user:whiteknightnight]: THIS LINE IS CURRENTLY BUSY, PLEASE HANG UP AND TRY AGAIN  
[date deleted; 01:34:18; user:chessKINGday left the chat]  
[date deleted; 01:34:18; user:jackal_of_trades left the chat]  
********************************************************

There was so much to unpack here. 

To start: they’d never stood up from their computer, but here they were very much not in the room they’d just left. Out in the… daylight, even.  
Distressing.

Soggy leaves squelched underfoot, stinking as they do. Trees. Trees like the kind Tam had only ever seen photos of, in such numbers Tam had to be dreaming. They’d fallen asleep at their computer, and their friends were probably making fun of them for it. Again.

Probably.

Through the trees, and the mist between them, glimpses of a high wall. Probably keeping whatever was making all that noise at bay. Sounded a little like the stadium that used to be behind their house. Back before the move.

A slight breeze carried a chill and Tam wished for a moment they had sleeves on their hooded vest. They hugged themselves, shuffling in place until someone spoke.

“Quit standing around, you moron!”

“... I’m not--”  
Irritation fled when they turned to face their insulter, and Tam scrambled backward a bit too fast, rolling a solid 10 feet when they inevitably fell. The owner of that voice had too many teeth to count as a ‘who.’ 

Tam was glad it came no closer - they couldn’t have got upright if they tried. No amount of internal screaming could get their limbs to comply.

The monster sniffed and darted back into the woods.  
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

It felt like forever that Tam stumbled around after that first encounter. Bumping into more of those monsters proved unhelpful, and each was scarier than the last. Worst of all, they seemed every bit as terrified as Tam was.

“Move it!”  
“Where are you going?! Other way!”  
“Come on, human - we don’t have time for these games!”

Slowly but surely, Tam heard them fighting… something. Explosions, loud crashes, shouts and cursing - they couldn’t pinpoint what belonged to which monster. Not until a fight was close enough for Tam to pick out a hair-raising hissing under all the screams.

Tam tried to run, then, but quickly got winded. They couldn’t hear the hissing anymore, over the sound of their own huffing and puffing, but at least the shouts and screams were further away. Maybe they could catch their breath now...

“What are you doing, girlie?”  
The first monster was back, snarling now.

Tam squeaked and tried to face it again. It darted closer, thwarting their attempts to get a better look. Always just to the left or right of Tam’s peripheral vision.

“Don’t you know how to do anything?” it jeered. Almost enough for Tam’s ire to override their fear. “I’ve watched you fumble and cower, and you can’t even seem to scurry right.”

Then it was gone again, and Tam was alone with the softly hissing mists.  
The hissing, slithering mists. 

Was that what was killing everyone?

Run.   
Tam just wanted to run but their legs - heck, their whole body - refused. Not even when an entire portion of the mist formed a hand and reached. 

It was cold when it stroked their cheek. Colder still when it continued on behind them and they felt its breath on their neck. Heard its whispers but couldn’t process words. Tam shook uncontrollably, watching ice creep up their legs. Listened to the hissing retreat, just before the icy trap reached their knees.

When the danger had passed, Tam tried wiggling free but the ice was stronger than it looked. All they managed to do was crack a little off the top. They wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. 

Nothing for it but to wait. The ice would melt eventually - Tam already felt the damp seeping into their shoes… In a few minutes, they’d try again.

They only vaguely registered when the first one returned. And it was pissed. Even lurking under the trees, Tam could see that.

“You idiot girl,” it began and resentment colored Tam’s cheeks.   
“I’m not a girl,” they huffed, and the monster responded with a growl.

“Fine. Human, then. How could you let ‘er catch you like that? Don’t you know what’s riding on this?”

“Riding on this? What is this?” Further questions caught in their throat when the jerk rushed forward and caught their arm. 

“Listen closely, human. I don’t believe you can do even half of what that other one can, but you will give me every scrap of power you’ve got.”

Tam forgot how to breathe and it tightened its grip.

“I will win this. You will do as I say.”

Then the mist hissed again and the monster snarled, yanking Tam out from the ice too soon. Pain reset their panic, and they whimpered and flailed. An elbow caught it under the jaw and it yowled, tossing Tam away.   
“You worthless--!”

The mist answered with a louder hiss, this time recognizable as a word.   
“Enough!” and Tam watched it envelop their tormenter. Turned the toothy beast into an icebound statue before Tam managed to find the ground.

“MATCH!”  
Tam bounced once, bruised their backside off some roots. Then the trees were gone, fading with the mist. Most of it anyway.

Commotion followed. Tam saw now that the wall did belong to some kind of stadium, and there was a huge crowd bellowing at the tops of their lungs. Monsters, all. Monsters spectating monster games and now here they were, caught up in it. 

The mist-creature stood straight, revealing itself to be mostly humanoid in shape, and very feminine. A ghost, Tam thought.  
A ghost now approaching them. 

The crowd roared even louder.

Tam barely heard the next hiss, musical now. “Are you hurt, human? Why did you not run?”

Tam shied away from her touch. Shied away from the new monsters that came to get them to their feet. Had to be carried like a sack because the monsters couldn’t get them to hold themself up. Had to be set down gently when they reached their destination, because the monsters weren’t sure they could stand. 

The monsters stood around, awkwardly looking around the multi-tiered room. Tam registered a giant bed below, smothered in silks and pillows. A few cozy reading nooks on this level. Curtained windows looking out into some kind of statuary, and a loft up above. Someone was up there, Tam realized, scrawling one moment and crunching numbers the next.

Eventually the monsters determined who would speak. The big ogre-looking one, who sounded nervous. “Um… Mr. Uri? We don’t know what’s wrong with this one. We, uh, mighta broke ‘em.”

“Broke… them?” 

The figure turned out to be a boy, and Tam’s mind scrambled two separate directions. The first firmly telling them, this one looks like a prep school dick. The second firmly yeeting that information in favor of, human good, very safe. 

And suddenly Tam found the strength to act on that information, launching to their feet, putting as much distance between themself and the guard monsters as possible.

“This is-- this-- straight crazy shit,” Tam spluttered, already half up the stairs.

“Ye get used te it,” Porcmon commiserated from where he sat.

Tam squawked, coming to a dead stop next to the tiny monster they had overlooked. Porcmon looked to Uri for a clue, then past Tam to quirk a brow at the monsters they’d left behind.

“Are you… alright?” A new voice came from that direction and Tam flinched. They were terrified to know what kind of monstrosity owned it.

Uri and Porcmon looked between themselves, then to the ones below. They all shared a nod and the pig stood. After a murmured ‘scuse me’ he scooted past and Tam turned to watch him go. Watched him meet up with a pale faun, who dismissed the guards.

“Thank you,” he said, and Tam felt a bit sheepish for having been so scared. “We’ll take it from here.”

And that ‘we’ appeared to be the royal sense, as the deer nodded to Tam and excused himself. Then the pig - uncomfortable, pitying even - did the same. Leaving Tam alone with the concerningly put-together blonde.

“Er... alright then,” he began, a gently puzzled smile on his face. “If you like, I can show you around. Once you’ve calmed down, that is.”


	6. Runa

The last notes of the violin faded, her bow stilled, and Runa frowned. Eyes still closed her face scrunched in discontent. Something was...off. The acoustics were all wrong. Something that shouldn’t have been possible. The school’s music room had been designed for, well, music and nothing should have been able to disrupt them to such an extent. Especially not in the last twenty minutes.

The girl lowered her instrument and finally opened her eyes.

Her blue-grey eyes were met not with the plain walls of the music room but the looming trees of what should have been a forest clearing. But even that didn’t seem right. The trees all appeared to be dead; lacking leaves, rugged and reaching branches, bark an unnatural dark color like a reaper’s shroud. Fallen leaves crunched under her feet and even the bushes seemed withered and brittle.

The girl turned slowly, taking in the grim scenery and searching for any clue as to where she might be and what could have happened. Fear beginning to gnaw at the edges of her thinking.

Nothing. No clue, no breeze, no sounds, until...

Eyes as green as the foliage should have been, slit-pupiled and clearly animalistic but holding an intelligence that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Interesting,” the hidden thing spoke and Runa could hear the  _ purr _ in his voice. The eyes narrowed in an unseen smile and she could easily imagine the thing -- whatever it was-- showing teeth. “How interesting.”

“U-um,” the girl began, voice quavering. 

“Dangerous things in these woods, child,” the thing said, as if it wasn’t one of them, eyes crinkling into what might have been a smile. “What is it you expect to find, here on the edge of what was once the Gnarled Court?”

Runa’s blood ran cold-- she knew the sound of a Fae territory when she heard one. Her eyes flicked briefly down to the instrument in her hands and, distantly, Runa could hear her father’s voice telling her how the Fair Folk loved music. And now here she was in a strange, unknown place with only her violin.

The unseen thing seemed as if it could sense her fear, eyes narrowing further as she imagined its smile grew wider. “Tell me, what’s your name brave, foolish child?”

Her violin and her  _ name _ .

Unconsciously she took a step back, unwilling or unable to remove her eyes from those watching her. Her mind screamed at her to run, never mind that Runa barely knew  _ what _ was talking to her, let alone if she could outrun it. Her arms tightened around her violin, holding it close. The discolored foliage rustled again, whatever it was making to step forward, and--

Her foot caught a music stand. She landed with a clatter of metal landing on the tiled floor of the music room followed swiftly by the impact of a teenage body twisting around as to not land on her instrument. The violin slipped from her grip as her body met tile, skittering along the floor for several feet. Sheet music left abandoned on a different music stand fell, covering the instrument like a funeral veil.

Runa lay motionless where she fell, breathing slowly through her nose in a poor attempt to calm her pounding heart. Everything was normal now, as if the past few moments had been nothing but the fantasy of a tired mind.

But she could still smell the forest. The scent of wet earth and rotting leaves clinging to her hair and cardigan. 

“I should...invest in some iron,” Runa decided and something about her voice sounded distorted. A horrible little voice in the back of her mind wondered if not all of her had returned from the Fair Folk’s court.

Carefully the violinist picked herself off the tile floor, feeling where she would have bruises as she moved, and went to retrieve her instrument. Her dark red hair had come loose from her hair tie and she was sure she looked a mess but Runa couldn’t bring herself to care as she carefully packed away the violin.

“A craft store would have silver wire,” she muttered to the empty room, snapping the case closed. “And iron? A hardware store, I guess? Between the two I should be set. I’ll be fine and I won’t appear in anymore freaky dead forests with  _ things _ lurking in bushes.”

With her next move decided Runa tucked the violin case under her arm and exited the music room with determination.

Things would  **be ** ** _fine_ ** .

In the window of the music room door-- unnoticed by the girl as she passed-- her reflection shuddered and jumped, like a VHS tape played once too many.


	7. Alessa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! We had a reviewer point out something that completely slipped my mind. If you don't recognize a Digimon's name there is a 99.9% chance that Digimon is a fakemon made up specifically for this fic and the continent of Domain where it takes place.   
Sorry for any confusion!   
Forta and I are deciding how best to get reference images of the cast and some of the 'mon up for you guys. Maybe a public googledocs folder??

“Thanks!” the teenager called to the barista as she stabbed a straw into her large iced coffee cup. Hand now free she waved, pushing the door to the coffee shop open with her back.

The bell above the door jingled. Alessa could feel the warm breeze from the outside in contrast to the cool air of the shop. She turned around, ready to join the flow of walking traffic outside---

And found herself in the middle of a field.

Not just any field but the picturesque kind found in advertisements for the Midwest. Tall green grass and ripe looking golden wheat swaying in the breeze. She could smell the faint scent of apples on the wind, though the distant trees didn’t seem to have fruit.

“Well that’s...weird…” Alessa said slowly. She turned around, as if expecting to return to the coffee shop only to find that, too, now missing.

“Don’t like that,” she said to no one, with her free hand she pulled her cellphone and flipped it open with her thumb. No signal. “Don’t like that either.”

The teenager continued to move in a slow circle, some small part of her hoping the coffee shop might reappear and she’d just look like an idiot spinning on the sidewalk. Wheat, wheat, more wheat. Grass waving pleasantly with the wind. Dog. Trees. A rock.

“Hold up,” Alessa paused, turning back. “Dog?” 

In the distance, far enough to make Alessa squint, there was a dog amid the wheat. She could tell the dog had folded ears and spots of color. Dogs  _ usually _ meant people, maybe she could follow it home and find out whatever was going on. Or, at least, a phone and then a cab. The brunette girl took a comforting sip of her coffee and slipped her phone back into her pocket.

Relying on a dog to find people wasn’t exactly the best plan, but here she was.

“Hi, puppy!” Alessa called, starting into the wheat in the general direction of the dog. “Do you live around here?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice answered, nearly scaring the girl out of her skin. “You need t’ leave.”

“Jesus sh-” she bit down on the curse just before it escaped her, hand over her frantic heart. “Hello? Is someone there?”

Something shifted in the wheat ahead of her, in the direction the voice had come from.

“Hello?” Alessa called again, feeling a bit as if she had wandered into some sort of rural horror movie. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m on your farm or whatever but I’m, uh, lost?”

She caught a flash of the brown-grey-black pattern of the dog through the wheat. It was closer now and seemed to be moving with purpose. Towards the farmer? Alessa hesitated, rocking back on her heels before making a decision. The dog passed through the wheat again and the teenager sprinted after it, calling.

“Wait!”

And suddenly the whole world shifted, strangely distorted as if she were emerging from underwater, and then Alessa was no longer sprinting across an open field but along the crosswalk. The red hand signalling ‘DO NOT WALK’ a neon warning she had apparently ignored.

A car horn blared, far too close.

She might have screamed, hands flying up to cover her face even as she willed her legs to move faster. There was a faint sound of something hitting the pavement behind her, nearly lost to the rush of the car as it passed, close enough for the wind to tug at her clothes.

Alessa collapsed as soon as her sneakers hit sidewalk. “Oh my god. Oh  _ my god _ .”

“Whoa, are you, like, okay?” At the sound of another voice Alessa lowered her hands from her face. The speaker was another girl, maybe around her age, in fashionable clothes. Her hair toed the line between strawberry blonde and light brown and was decorated with star clips. She looked down at Alessa with wide brown eyes.

“Did you see a dog?” Alessa asked blankly, feeling stupid.

The girl blinked. “Um, what?”

“A dog. I was chasing a do-” Alessa paused mid-gesture, miming the approximate size of the dog she had seen, as she realized her hands were empty. “Ahhh! My  _ coffee _ !” She twisted around to face the street, finding her plastic cup crushed in the middle of the crosswalk and her precious iced coffee nothing more than a puddle. “That was limited edition!”

The girl’s face lit up in recognition. “Oh, the new thing? With the cinnamon? The coffee shop two blocks down still has some.”

Near-death experience seemingly forgotten Alessa climbed to her feet with renewed hope. “Really? Great!” A spring in her step the teenager hurried off in the mentioned direction, pausing briefly to turn and wave at the other girl. “Thanks so much!”

* * *

The second time Alessa disappeared to someplace else she had just stepped into her bedroom, with the idea to kick off her shoes and take a nap. Now she was standing in another unknown location with one leg outstretched and her sneaker dangling from her toes.

“Oh,” she said blankly, slowly lowering her foot and stepping back into her shoe. “Huh.”

This place looked entirely different than the field she had found herself in before. Dusty, crumbling, like some sort of old Roman colosseum completely out of place and left forgotten. Some stray vines and moss seemed to have taken root on the dark stone but there wasn’t much else of color to look at. Absently Alessa kicked at a stray stone, sending it skittering down an adjacent hallway.

“Well...so much for that nap…”

A hand shot out, grabbing her shirt from the shadows and tugging her bodily against the rugged stone wall of the place. Alessa’s own hand reached out, to pry it off, to defend herself, to do  _ something _ and--

It’s a  _ paw _ . 

The realization is enough to freeze her in place with her fingers pressing into the soft fur of what she thought was a wrist. It’s a paw, with three stubby, clawed fingers and a matching thumb. Her eyes moved from the fur under her fingers, up along the arm, to the face of what was holding her.

A bright red bandana had been pulled up over his nose as if it could hide the fact that he was a  _ dog _ . Some sort of speckled shepherd with folded ears and cold, mismatched eyes. Or...not cold, not exactly. The longer the dog held eye contact the less Alessa saw malice and the more she found something like fear.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the dog spoke-- Spoke!-- and the brunette was almost certain she recognized an accent. “I told you before. Why didn’t you listen?”

“Now, wait a minute!” Alessa countered, finally smacking the paw away from her. “I’m not doing this on purpose! You think I want to keep falling through reality or whatever, losing my coffee, and being yelled at by a  _ dog _ ! I don’t even know what’s happening! And, for that matter, you didn’t  _ tell _ me anything!”

To his credit the dog had enough decency to look embarrassed when she snapped at him, folded ears drooping and mismatched eyes skimming the dusty floor. 

“Who even are you?” Alessa pressed, stepping forward. “You’re some kind of dog, aren’t you? How are you talking? Where is this place?”

His eyes snapped upwards, frown obvious as he pulled the bandana free from his face. Even knowing that he was a talking dog seeing the unveiled face was so jarring that Alessa almost missed his next words. “There’s no time for all of that. You can call me Shepmon, but we need to find a way to get you out of here.”

He held out his paw to her.

The brunette frowned at Shepmon’s apparent attitude change. He seemed friendlier but was still insistent on getting rid of her. If it wasn’t for the anxiety in his body language-- twitchy ears, searching eyes-- Alessa would have been offended.

She took ahold of the offered paw, a snarky comment on her tongue. It died before it passed her lips.

The instant her fingers closed around the furry paw Shepmon doubled over. His whole body shuddered, rolling like a wave, square chunks of  _ something _ shedding off of him until--

He **_burst_**.

The square fragments floated for a moment, sending Alessa stumbling back, before regathering and glowing bright enough to force her eyes shut.

The creature that reformed was not a fluffy shepherd dog but gaunt, feral looking wolf far too large for the tiny side corridor. It struggled to move, growling and snapping its jaws.

“Oh _go_\- I- I’m sorry!” Alessa stammered, backing away. She held up her hands as if it would pacify the wolf monster that was recreating the binding of Fenrir with a hallway. “I didn’t mean to hurt you! I won’t touch you again! I’m sorry!”

The great wolf turned its head towards the girl, eyes wild and breath labored from the constriction of the walls. The low rumble of its growl was growing louder and Alessa was sure she could feel it physically vibrating her chest, competing with the frantic pace of her heart.

“I-I-I-I-” the girl repeated, mind seemingly stuck on that one word.

The wolf lunged forward, a stilted and jerky motion. His jaws snapped in front of her nose and Alessa stumbled backwards--

Directly off the edge of her own bed, half-stumbling until she slammed her back against the closed bedroom door. Alessa clutched at her heart, sliding heavily down the wooden door until she was sitting on the floor, head between her knees as she tried to remember how to breathe. 

What had she done? What had  _ she done _ ?


	8. Shiloh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, a short one this time. Chapters will get a little more uniform once all the introductions are made and things get moving nice and proper.

“I’m home!” Declan called as he entered the house. His school bag hit the floor with an audible thud, landing right in the middle of the entryway where it was sure to be tripped over later. He yawned, not bothering to step out of his shoes as he made a direct line for the kitchen.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Gideon warned, pausing in his bouncing of their baby sister on his knee. “Shy’s in a mood. And you know he hates it when we get in the way of his therapeutic baking.”

The middle child squinted, weighing his want for a snack against his older brother’s warning. “How can you tell?”

As if on cue a clanking sound could be heard from the kitchen; the sound of a whisk on a glass bowl.

“Is he-?”

“Whipping the cream by hand, yeah.”

Declan sighed, moving over to the couch and dropping into it beside his brother and baby sister. He reached over, taking Finley from Gideon and bouncing her up and down. “At least it’ll be good when we can eat it. Do you know what kind of cake?”

Gideon made a grab to take the toddler back but was denied. He frowned and shrugged. “Shortcake? Maybe some kind of chiffon? I think there's a difference anyway. He was mashing strawberries earlier.”

In the kitchen the eldest of the Wells siblings paused in his whisking to check the consistency of his cream. Satisfied, he set the bowl aside on the counter. He leaned against the countertop, arms spread to open up his stance, as he exhaled slowly through his nose. Now that everything was in order, cake in the oven and additional items prepared, Shiloh could feel his previous mood lifting.

He drummed his fingers against the countertop before straightening and calling out to the few siblings in the other room. “Boys! What d’you want for dinner?”

“Cake!” Declan called back.

Shiloh huffed and shook his head. Thankfully there was plenty of time to think of an actual dinner. With at least one vegetable.

The timer buzzed, bringing his attention back to the cake. Shiloh turned to the oven, turning both the oven and the buzzer off before slipping on his oven mitts and removing the cake. The smell was delicious and the top was a perfect golden brown. Shiloh smiled, proud.

The feeling didn’t last.

Whatever pride Shiloh was feeling when he removed the cake from the oven quickly changed to visible confusion and mild panic. In the time that he turned around the entire kitchen had shifted into… something that was decidedly  _ not _ a kitchen.

His boots crunched against rocky, dusty soil. In the wide, wide distance not restrained by kitchen walls he could see what might have been rock formations and cacti. Things that were not normally found outside his kitchen. The air felt hot and dusty, leaving grit on his skin.

“Shit,” Shiloh cursed. “The cake.” Unsure of what to do he moved as if to cradle the pan to him to protect it from the grit.

Only to find his mitt covered hands empty.

“ _ Excuse me _ ?” He must have been losing his mind.

“What’s all this, then?” a new voice asked, followed by a clanging of steel on rock. “Is it food? I hope it’s food ‘cause I’m gonna eat it.”

Shiloh’s head snapped over to the source of the new voice, wanting answers or proof that his brain wasn’t melting out of his ears. What he found didn’t make his poor brain feel any less melty.

It was a weird rabbit, to put it simply. Tall and lanky with longer than normal arms, ending with sharp looking claws. His long black-tipped ears seemed to be twice as long as they needed and there was a pair of deer horns crowning his forehead. There seemed to be some sort of natural markings under his eyes and on his long feet. And about the weird rabbit’s feet there was something  _ not quite right _ about them. An extra claw at the back, like a bird’s foot. It was...disconcerting.

But something else held Shiloh’s attention.

The weird rabbit had his cake. More importantly the weird rabbit had his  _ cake pan _ . Even more importantly  _ the weird rabbit was smacking his cake pan  _ ** _against a rock_ ** .

“Hey!” Shiloh barked, stumbling only slightly on the unfamiliar ground as he began to move. “Give that back!”

The weird rabbit’s long ears shot straight up as he registered the threat. “Uh-oh,” he gulped. In one fluid movement the rabbit clamped his jaws around the cake pan and dropped to all fours, scrambling away fast enough to kick up dust as a chase ensued.

Over sand, and small cacti, and far too many scattered rocks Shiloh thundered after the thief, his temper urging him on. It wasn’t as if he wanted to hurt the...whatever-it-was but all his cooking utensils had been carefully chosen and he wasn’t about to lose a pan if he could avoid it.

The angry teenager launched himself over a pile of rubble, hand outstretched to grab the rabbit by ear, tail, or antler--

The whole world seemed to shift, dissolving into cubes and colors in the time it took to blink--

And Shiloh’s knee crashed into the countertop of his family kitchen, sending him crashing and cursing over the island. He landed hard on the tile floor, covered in flour and narrowly missing the mixing bowl crashing onto his head. Shiloh hissed out another string of expletives, pulling his throbbing knee to his chest in reflex.

Several of his younger brothers scrambled into the kitchen at the commotion, all stopping and crowding in the doorway at the sight of their older brother on the floor, as if he had just lost a fight with the kitchen appliances. Gideon held baby Finley in his arms, the toddler babbling something in her own incomprehensible language.

Declan inhaled swiftly and Cody, sensing danger, punched him in the arm. It stopped none of the words that left The Middle Child’s mouth. “Hey, Shy, I don’t know if you know this, being on the floor an’ all, but that’s not how you bake a cake.”

“Get out!” Shiloh snapped, voice echoing off the kitchen walls and sending his siblings scrambling.

* * *

The next morning Shiloh stood in the kitchen once again, his naturally grumpy expression intensifying to a full on glare-and-frown. His cake pan was still gone. Completely absent as if it had never existed, save for the empty spot in his carefully organized cabinets.

It hadn’t been a dream.

The exceptionally tall teenager grunted, cracking his knuckles before kneeling down to open the lower cabinets and search through them. “Alright, rabbit. You and I are going to have a little talk, nice and proper.”

He felt ridiculous. There had never been any indication that weird deer-rabbits lived in his kitchen Narnia-style but Shiloh had no other explanations. And he wanted his pan back.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,  you damn cake stealing rabbit .”

There was no response.  _ Of course _ there wasn’t.

Shiloh sighed and began contemplating his life’s choices. Here he was halfway into a bottom cabinet looking for a rabbit  _ that didn’t exist _ when he should have been worrying about what to make his siblings for breakfast and starting the long process of getting everyone where they needed to be for the day. Just about the moment he was starting to remove himself from the cabinet his hand slipped-- on what Shiloh would never know. Instead of smacking his face on the rough back side of the cabinet the teenager instead kept falling  _ forward _ until he had disappeared completely inside the much too small cabinet.

Until he disappeared down the rabbit hole, unwilling Alice that he was.


	9. Keiran ['Big K']

> _ And in later news, authorities have requested assistance in locating a missing person, suspect in an attempted ATM robbery last night. Just after 10 pm at the Tennet Ave. Little Slick convenience store, a group of youths loitered in the parking lot after purchases of sandwiches, drinks, and cigarettes. A pair of them wandered inside, hanging around the ATM and scoping out the register. We have closed circuit footage of the heist. Pay special attention to the second clip, because it happens fast. First, here two of the group outside come in, to distract the clerk. Group inside grabs some booze and walks out. _
> 
> _ We were told the loiterers outside moved elsewhere afterwards. The distraction bought a lotto ticket and left after them. _
> 
> _ One hour later, youths return and attempt to tamper with ATM. The bright flash caught the attention of the clerk and, as you see here, the youths scatter before rushing back for the money. One of the robbers told police that _ ** _this_ ** _ member disappeared “into the long night.” He got away during the confusion, making off with $240 in total. _

Seeing her son’s face plastered on the screen, the woman gasped. “Must be some kind of mistake. They’ve got the wrong boy.”

_ Police are offering a $75 reward for information on the whereabouts of this young man, and appreciate the community’s assistance. Suspect is not armed-- _

She stopped listening, six trillion things running through her head. Not the smallest of which: _my boy. My Keiran’s missing and they think he’s a criminal. My Keiran? A criminal!_

All that had to be wrong. The video was wrong. Something strange had happened with it. Most would have chalked it up to an artefact of the tape; a result of the bright flash overloading a low quality camera... 

She knew what she’d seen. Some_ thing _ had reached out and snatched her boy.

And she intended to do everything she knew to get him back.

* * *

Holed up here, in his favorite haunt, he finally had a chance to get his thoughts down. Tightly packed words, two lines written per line printed, Keiran’s pages looked like grayscale walls. The kind he’d like to build between himself and his problems, if he could. And maybe in a way, he already did.

His legs pressed into the edge of the stage while his pen laid the next row and the boys - his friends - hashed out their next big idea in the aisles. Bill always looked ridiculous, trying to squat between some of the few remaining seats, and Calhoun lead the schemes as always, but the chatter and bursts of laughter probably felt like family. Or how Keiran imagined it’d be, if his was bigger and things weren’t the way they were.

The last three days had been a whirlwind of activity - cop cars, interview rooms, his poor mother fussing and teary-eyed when she came to pick him up. His old man, random strangers giving him weird looks… The boys picking him up from home and spiriting him away to this rundown theatre. 

And before all that: **_monsters_**.

* * *

_ The big guy looks like an ogre. Kinda like Bill does, except less hairy and a fatter head. Has me in a headlock (more like a chest lock, really, ‘cuz he’s BIG) and I can’t do much more than squirm and grunt. Sometimes kick. _

_ That just made him laugh harder. _

_ Honestly? He doesn’t seem so bad, I just don’t wanna go where they want me to. I don’t know them. I think I said as much, too. _

_ “You’ll be fine, human. You got fire; channel that in the pit and you’ll do juuuust fine. Yeah? Yeah. Here you are.” _

_ And he dumps me off in a room full of more creatures and claps me on the back so hard I can’t help stumble forwards a couple steps. Okay, more than a couple. So many that by the time I spin around to swing, the door’s already closed and there’s no point in having raised my hands. So I stuff ‘em in my pockets and turn to watch the rest of ‘em. _

_ “Well you’re not a sorry-lookin’ sod,” one of ‘em starts. She looks like some kind of mermaid, except meaner. More teeth. “You, uh, you really a human?” _

_ I keep quiet, but I can’t lie - that’s a real scary question for somebody to ask. Fish-lady or not. Drives home how far from, uh, home I am. _

_ “Hey now, no need to be shy,” she says all sweet-like, but the razors in her mouth really mess with that. “We already seen what you humans can do, and we been looking for that kind of stuff for a long time.” _

_ “...Stuff?” _

_ “Oh yeah. You humans got the right stuff… Lookin’ forward to what you bring to the field.” She winks and I can’t help blush, because this is just so weird and Not Cool. The boys would have plenty to say about that, not the least of which that I’m being a wuss, but I don’t care. I’ll stick by it being absolutely weird and Not Cool. _

_ Her lackeys stick by her, arms all crossed and squatting like a bunch of punks and it works for them. Some of ‘em almost look like frogs and turtles, and two of ‘em look like barracuda. Real rough crowd. _

_ They remind me somehow of the dockside folk back home: tough as nails but not bad people. Hard-working and not interested in handouts. But still ready to ruin your day if you let ‘em. _

_ The rest of ‘em, though, they’re trouble. After the sea gang was finished talking to me, the others started walking up on me, sizing me up. The biggest one looked like a hyena and she had a lot to say. The rest looked like goblins and redcap thugs and one looked like a pucca in a biker helmet (the kaiser kind). The hyena came up and tried to put an arm around me, so I tried to duck it. _

_ She’s too fast, and strong, too. _

_ “Aw, c’mon kid don’ be like that. I’m juss tryin’ t’ help ya out. You stick with me, I’ll make sure you don’ end up a joke, yeah?” _

_ Then one of the redcaps grabbed my free arm and goes, “Naw, he’ll be stickin’ wid us.” And they start tugging me back and forth a little, and I’m regretting letting them walk up on me at all. I start to fuss, telling ‘em to get off me, and I’m not some kind of toy to be dragged around. Then one of the goblins grabs me by the belt and tries to pull me back his way and I lose my shit. _

_ “Fuckoff!” _

_ Fists fly. First mine into the redcap, then the redcap into the goblin ‘cause I pitched forward to finally duck the hyena. And she takes offense and snatches up the next goblin that tries to join the fray. _

_ All kinds of chaos breaks loose. _

_ The pucca cat-calls everybody, the fish gang watch from their corner of the room and now they’ve got knives. The redcaps whip out clubs and the goblins, broken bottles and one has a big, bent... spork. And the first time the hyena bounces one of ‘em off the floor, there’s a crater and I realize just how much danger I’m really in. _

_ So I scuffle my way to put my back into a corner. Punch somebody, kick somebody else, somehow don’t get stabbed. And then the pucca comes my way and he’s suddenly taller than me, leaning his face in close while he rests one arm on the wall over my head and the other on his hip. And he’s packing heat. _

_ His breath smells like stale ale and cigarettes and all I can think of is my dad. _

_ I don’t know what he said, then. I don’t even know if he said anything. I just kept trying to get further and further back, but all that’s there is wall. Until there isn’t. I tumble back and for a split second he looks shocked. _

_ And then I bounce off a dumpster and there’s no fair folk or goblins or anybody. _

_ It’s early morning; sun’s just coming up. So I step out into the sidewalk to try and figure out where I am, but I can’t. I feel like shit and I don’t know where I am at all. _

_ I wander around for a bit until I find a Little Slick, and that at least tells me I’m within three towns of my own. I go in and buy some water and the clerk gives me a funny look. And I guess somebody calls the cops, ‘cause next thing I know I’m under arrest. _

_ Yeah. This is fine. What’s a night in the holding cells? Less scary than monsters and fair folk in an underground fight club. Just gotta answer a few questions, right? Explain that I never touched the money, and… and… Well, I don’t actually know how I’m gonna get out of this one. Cops showed me the video, and that’s definitely me on it… And I can’t account for the time between then and now unless I take a trip to the nuthouse or admit to drugs I wasn’t on. _

_ And the docs already took some bloodwork, so even if I did, they’d know I was lying. _

* * *

He paused there, unsure how to write the next part. Transitions were hard, especially when there had been so much waiting around and time to think. Dreading what might happen. The couldbees, the shouldbees, and the wouldbees hard at work, as his mom liked to say. 

She’d been so glad when she came to get him from the station; kept saying how it had worked. Reminded him to be more wary and said never to return to that convenience store. 

_ “They never should have built anything there,” _ she’d said. _ “Everyone knew better! Used to be a fairy tree.” _

After what had happened, he was inclined to agree. Even if the tree was gone, the land wasn’t, so therefore hanging around there was trespassing. And the kind Keiran was loathe to repeat. 

Absently, he rolled his wrists to stretch them, then winced when pain arced all the way up to his shoulder. Tears stung his eyes, but he managed not to whimper at least.

His hiss, though, pulled the other boys away from their scheming.   
“Ey, Kay-- Rufus and Rick went off to get y’ some Tylenol or something. Take a break, alright?” Calhoun insisted. “Yer stories’ll be there.”

“Not if I forget ‘em they won’t,” Keiran huffed, but it was a good-natured grousing and it gave way to a smile. “But alright.”

In putting things away, he got a good look at his forearms. The machine had burned him when it went off - electric - but the pattern seemed wrong. Too blocky. Like some kind of internal computer part.

Were they even able to touch computers? It wasn’t iron, right? So maybe…?

Seemed a bit off, though, even for Fae.


	10. Miho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this covers the introductions of our cast!

Miho had left the house with plans to spend the afternoon in the park, finding a nice sunny spot to lounge and painting the ducks on the pond. She’d packed her art supplies, snacks, a drink, and even her headphones to prevent unwanted conversation. With any luck the ice cream cart would still be traveling through and she could snag an additional treat.

Humming a tune, the teenager took two steps off the porch and nearly tripped over a rock. Miho gave a rather embarrassing yelp as her feet scuffled the suddenly dusty ground to right her balance. Fall averted, it was then Miho realized the problem.

Everything off of her porch had miraculously changed to what seemed like an Arizona desert. If only she lived in Arizona. A quick glance over her shoulder proved that her house was no longer behind her. Miho frowned.

“No ducks, then,” she said, kicking at the rock that nearly tripped her before she started walking again. Best to focus on the least consequential part of...whatever this was. 

Home was gone. The familiar path was gone. She was in an unfamiliar place with only a soda and some snacks.

Miho inhaled slowly, attempting to reduce her quickening heartbeat. Time to focus on somethig simpler, something she could do now. “If I can’t draw the ducks, I’ll have to settle for cacti. Some of them look in bloom. The composition could be very pretty, even with a limited palette.”

Something shuffled in the distance. It sounded as if something had disturbed some rocks, causing them to fall over, and some muffled concern had followed. Miho continued to walk. The sounds continued, closer now, following her meandering path into the unknown.

“I know you’re there,” Miho called, gathering her courage. “Come out.”

The creature that emerged from the shadows was unlike anything the girl had ever seen. It looked to be some sort of canine, with tall ears and a narrow muzzle. It had an excessively fluffy coat of dusty brown, striped in black, and large dark eyes. Though there were spikes protruding from the ruff of fur around its neck and its paws were tipped with large claws the creature looked at Miho as if the girl were something intimidating.

“It’s dangerous here,” the creature spoke in a soft, feminine voice. It- She made a move as if to hide behind the rubble once more but decided better of it. Instead she gathered up her large, fluffy tail in her paws as if it were a security blanket. “Someone will try to keep you or worse.”

The girl’s face scrunched, not liking the sound of that at all. “Keep me?”

The dog-like monster nodded her head. “It’s said humans grant power. Power is everything here.”

Miho was silent for a long moment, the hot desert wind gently tugging at her dark hair. “Where is here?”

“A part of the desert close to the Painted Hills,” the creature answered helpfully. Miho thought she saw the tip of her tail wag. “The murals are lovely this time of year.”

“And where exactly is-- Murals?” Miho asked, thoroughly distracted. “What murals?”

This time the tail of whatever-it-was did visibly wag. “Homage to the King of Cats, the great protector of this land and second only to the Three Celestials. Unspoken Deva of the holy Harmonious Ones.”

That...seemed like a lot to unpack. “Stop, stop, stop,” Miho asked holding up her hands as if to stem the flow of words threatening to drown her. “Let’s start with something simpler. What’s your name?”

The little canine, thankfully, didn’t seem too disappointed by the change of topic. She paused before answering but the quiet shuffling of her feet- paws?- suggested she was bashful. “I’m Aardmon.”

“Aardmon,” the human girl repeated slowly, the word feeling foriegn on her tongue. “And you’re a…?”

“Digimon. Rookie level, Data type.”

Miho exhaled slowly, feeling the sting in her temple that came with too much information happening far too quickly. Her hand itched, longing for pencil or brush. “Oh. Okay. I’m Miho, human. Um, teenage level, girl type?” Aardmon nodded thoughtfully and the artist supposed that was good enough. “Can you show me these murals Aardmon?”

“Of course!” Aardmon chirped, finally releasing her tail as she trotted forward and gently took hold of Miho’s hand. “I can even show you the best spot for cactus fruit.”

“Cactus fruit?”

“It’s delicious!”

* * *

The Painted Hills were more impressive than Miho had imagined. The rocks seemed to be naturally striated with bright and varied colors. The artist was certain she could spend hours trying to recreate the sight and she hadn’t even seen the murals yet. The few sketches she’d made didn’t seem to compare to the real life thing. Distantly Miho wondered if she should try to take reference photos on her phone.

Aardmon was talking about something at her side but with the canine’s naturally soft voice the words were all but lost to Miho’s awe of the sight in front of her.

Until something touched her arm. Miho gave a very undignified squawk of surprise, moving away before she realized who it was.

Aardmon stood there, paw outstretched and holding a pink and green gradient fruit of some kind. She tilted her head, confused by the human’s reaction. “The sun is high, you need to stay hydrated.”

“Oh,” the girl said dimly, stepping forward to take the offered fruit. The skin was bumpy but the whole fruit felt somehow cool. Miho was almost certain she could feel liquid sloshing around inside. “Thank you.”

The digimon was right. Even if the Painted Hills had areas that provided some shade the temperature was hot, she was sweating from the walk, and the only water she brought was for her travel watercolor brushes. As much as she wanted to work on landscapes it wouldn’t do anyone any good if she got heat stroke.

“Shall we find a nice spot to rest?”

The desert was as hot as ever, even as the two found a shady spot under an overhang in the rock formation. Miho could feel her hair sticking to her forehead and secretly she hoped her deodorant was up to the task. “How do you do it?”

Aardmon paused in her gnawing attempts to chew through the rind of the odd fruit she’d produced, looking over at the girl. “With...my...teeth?”

Miho bit the inside if her cheek to keep from laughing at the poor little canine. When she felt confident that she could speak properly Miho asked “No, I mean how do you handle the heat with all that fur?”

“Oh,” Aardmon brought the fruit to her mouth again, breaking through the tough rind with a few more quick chomps. The canine spit the bit of rind, an impressive distance away, before sipping the liquid inside. “I suppose I’m just used to it? When it gets too hot I burrow, sometimes until evening.”

The piece of rind had glitched the moment it hit the dusty ground. ‘Glitched’ was the only word Miho could think for it. The piece of fruit had blurred and shifted, like a too-often played VHS tape, before it changed completely; turning from rind to a branching, cactus-like plant with flowers as pink as the fruit it came from. Miho blinked, drawing her attention back to Aardmon. “Burrow?”

“It’s much cooler underground,”Aardmon said with a sagely nod. She paused, noticing the still whole fruit in the girl’s hands. “Do you need help opening that?”

Miho looked down at the fruit she was holding, tapping her fingernails against the rind. It made a dull thud noise. “I don’t think my teeth will get through that.”

Aardmon reached out to take the fruit in a paw, then froze; large ears perked up and swiveling slightly, bat-like, as if to catch a distant sound.

“Aard--”

“Run!” Aardmon yelped suddenly. If it was possible for a fur-covered animal to have gone pale Miho was certain that Aardmon had. The fur around her neck and along her tail had fluffed up, like a defensive cat. “You have to run!”

“Wh-what?” Miho stammered, just managing to stuff her sketchbook back into her bag as the canine creature shoved at her with near-frantic urgency. “What’s wrong?”

“The trappers!” Aardmon insisted as if Miho knew the specifics of what that meant. “You can’t let them catch you! Run!”

At the digimon’s insistence Miho felt she had no choice but to listen, her own fear and anxiety spiking. Her feet kicked up dust clouds as her shoes smacked against the ground, brain finally deciding on ‘flight’ instead of ‘answers’. Aardmon’s fear enough to move her into action.

Aardmon.

Miho’s feet stopped moving. The little creature had been nothing but kind to her, and the fear in her voice had been real. Surely the threat, whatever it was, could be after the digimon as well. Her hands gripped the strap of her bag as she straightened, turning around.

“Aardmo--!”

The girl hadn’t gone more than a handful of steps before something heavy landed on her back, knocking the wind from her lungs. She coughed, trying to breathe through the shock and the dust.

“Well, well, well. Looks like we hit the jackpot, boys. A  _ human _ .” A new voice spoke and Miho could  _ hear _ the grin on it’s lips when it called her human. She didn’t much like the way the word had hung in the air. A prize, a gift, a boon.

“You should be nicer to it,” A second voice spoke, though Miho couldn’t turn her head to see. She could hear something, maybe Aardmon, struggling and biting though it didn’t seem to be doing much good. “What if it gets mad and does some of those weird human things? Or doesn’t share its power?”

“The boss is very persuasive,” the first voice countered. It shifted its weight on her back and Miho coughed again. “All the other humans have been playing nice. ‘Sides this one here is going to take a little nap until we get back to the colosseum.”

“Hey, wait--” Miho wheezed, attempting to speak through the grit and the weight on her back, restricting her lungs.

Something pinched the back of her neck. What little Miho could see of the world began to spin, the colors bleeding in on themselves until everything went black.


	11. Uri Again and Keiran Escapes Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically two chapters in one, as they would have been really short otherwise.

**_What a feeling_**! Much better than any of the sports back home.

Uri practically skipped up the steps to his desk. When he got there, he launched himself into his chair and the thing spun twice. And he just let it, enjoying every second.

His team had won. 

Uri played the moment over and over in his mind. The sound, the smell of the sand, everyones’ expressions: gleeful shock from the team, baffled approval from the game’s pit boss… The look of _ pride _ from the arena’s Legate….

Even considering his current record, the success had surprised everyone. Especially the pit boss. It was the first time in ages anybody had made it a full round against that guy, let alone the entire game! Valemon was the foremost expert at capture the flag, and there he was, bested by a motley band of surprise evolutions.

The crowd had eaten it up. Every time they’d cheered or roared, the whole stadium shook. And when the Schapmon called time, Uri had let the sound wash over him. Felt the shouts in his bones and revelled in the hammering in his chest.

Even now, his heart hadn’t slowed. He felt like he could take on anything in the world!

Below the loft, his hangersons-- his _ partners _ tended their own space. Space they kept together, despite having ample room to spread out. Two whole tiers of room, in fact.

Porcmon huffed, puffed, and grunted as though every exertion were worthy of note in building his personal fort. Pudumon disappeared every time he passed behind something, except when it was short enough that his mulish ears stuck out over top it.

Uri stifled a laugh and spun his chair once more.

The scruffy little pig stopped, squinted up at Uri, and scratched his jaw. “Yer a real piece ‘a work, and a brat, too.”

Uri’s smile hardly faded, but the pig grunted and pressed on. “Look, ye might think y’can hide it from people, but I don’t need t’ be able to see it. I can smell it. Yer a selfish little twit who just happens t’ be good at somethin’ useful. So don’t let it go to yer head. Stay focused, an’ ye might have th’ stayin’ power to make it around here.”

With that, he flopped back on the pillows he’d so dramatically piled and disappeared beneath them.

“Blunt as ever, Porcmon,” came the voice of that deer, “but equally apt.” 

Pudumon came back into view just in time to catch Uri, making faces at the pig. Which the boy promptly replaced with amused surprise. An ear twitch was Pudumon’s only acknowledgement until the deer sighed.

“You are certainly skilled, Urien, none with half a mind could deny that… but trust when I say your quest goes beyond this place. Don’t lose your head to the fickle whims of a cheering crowd.”

Those words hurt more from him, somehow, despite the encouragement. Or maybe because of it. But Uri took them with a vague look of entertainment and a gracious nod.

“Naturally.”

“Can ye believe this guy?!” Porcmon huffed, scattering pillows in a bid to glare at the boy. One he gave up pretty quick, only leaving an arm and his snout visible. “Yer lucky he’s got potential, Pudúmon, or I’d be done!”

The deer watched, face matching Uri’s for bland amusement until he turned to regard the boy once more. He looked pensieve a moment, then shook his head. 

“Try not to take it too personally, Urien. If you weren’t worth following, we would _ not _ stick around,” he chuckled before turning serious again. “Just… please. Take care. Few things here are quite what they seem.” 

* * *

_ “This time was even more awful,” _ he wrote in that beat up spiral-bound notebook.  _ “Started in the fight club, same as usual, then tumbled out, but I didn’t tumble all the way out. Then I was in the middle of nowhere and weird gremlins were staring at me. I turned around and then I was someplace cold; crazy cold. Then a tree dropped snow on me and I wasn’t there but by the sea. And then I was nowhere. Not middle-of-nowhere nowhere, cuz that’s still somewhere, but real, empty, howling nowhere. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see except sometimes there were flashes of bright shapes. My arms hurt like crazy. Somebody said something about--”  _

The door slammed open downstairs, and Keiran flinched, dragging the pen across the page. He listened a minute, nose scrunched as fresh cigarette smell made it upstairs. But the old man seemed content to slam things around down there.

After another few minutes of it, Keiran returned to the page, fitting words over top the mess.  _ “--righting myself, and getting my head on straight--” _

Something shattered in the kitchen and a string of expletives followed.  _ “--and next thing I know--” _

“BOY.”

Keiran froze, saying nothing even after the shout repeated. He waited to even breathe until he heard grumbling and the sound of the broom. Then more grumbling. Stuff getting tossed in the bin. TV turned on and the couch creaking as the man settled onto it.

Keiran closed the book slowly, listening to the rise and fall of sports replays and news commentators below his feet. His old man was a light sleeper until he got enough drink in him, so even the eventual snores weren’t enough to release Keiran from the fearsome wait. 

His bed, still slightly askew from where he’d pulled the book from under his mattress, seemed suddenly so pitiful. Accusatory.

_ How could you have been so careless? _ It seemed to say. _ And now if you move you’ll give yourself away and have no one to blame but yourself.  _

Hours passed. His growling stomach threatened to out him, and slipping out finally seemed worth the risk. It was time to escape.

The window hadn’t been an option in six years, so the boy crept instead to his door. Slunk down the hall, picking each step with care. Quietly thanked whoever might be listening that he’d finally got around to fixing the stairs. 

He stole across the kitchen, from which he could see his dad’s slumped form in the other room. When the man grumbled something, Keiran froze. Didn’t move again until the quiet that followed filled with snores.

Keiran pushed through the door, sprinting as soon as the screen was open. If the creak of it didn’t wake the old man, the slam behind him had to have, but Keiran didn’t care.

He was gone.

He’d stay gone well into the wee hours of the night, and probably the morning if he could.

When he finally calmed down, nothing was open. The only thing with anything resembling food, was an unfamiliar late night convenience shop. A stop he made as short as possible. Then he wandered, letting his feet pick the direction until he found himself again in familiar places.

Keiran puttered around the park, gnawing on the sad, cold, could-have-been burrito. Then he found himself perched atop the old ‘Sunder Dome.’ The steel jungle gym had seen many a game of King of the Hill, but even in its present shape it felt safe. Stable in a way home never did, even as it protested his added weight.

There, he continued the earlier entry in his book, going more on muscle memory than sight. As he reached its end, hot tears splattered the page. Even if you could have seen in the flickering artificial light, the smudging made the already shaky script nearly illegible.

Slowly, feelings of helplessness gave way to anger and he found himself tempted to throw everything on hand. Instead, he hooked the pen to the notebook, which he rolled and stuffed into a pocket so he could scrub the tears from his face.

Those monsters and their fight club suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

Taken by a strange mood, he stood tall and shouted loud enough for dogs the street over to bark back.

“Hey! If any of you are listening, I changed my mind. Whatever you are, fuckin’ take me and don’t give me back. I don’t… I don’t want to come back here, anymore. Not now or ever again.” 

His mom’s face flashed through his mind, her words of warning loud in his ears, but he couldn’t find it in him to regret what he’d just said. He just wanted to be gone, and gone for good.

As if in answer, the light finally gave out, taking Keiran with it. 

When it flickered back into existence, Keiran did not.


	12. A Tad, Underwhelming

The powers that be kept trying to force them into this meet and greet crap. Like how their parents used to do with play dates, except worse. The guards would herd Tam down the hall into another room, leaving them alone for a little while. Until they weren’t.

When the collective tempers were short, Tam was manhandled and tossed into the room. Always the same room, strewn with rubble and dust lit by the hole in the ceiling. Growing things stretching their leaves out and trying to pretend the place was peaceful.

New monsters would be cycled through each day - big ones, mostly - to try and find a match. Or maybe desensitize Tam. Hard to say.

No amount of time or cajoling, sweetness or guile could coax Tam to be any less terrified. None of them had patience. Kept trying to invade Tam’s space. And, sure, they weren’t hostile… But Uri hadn’t been wrong.

These creatures had no concept of how fragile humans were.

Whether they meant anything by it or not, Tam always wound up with new bruises after the day’s activities. And Tam was getting real tired of being sore.

“How can you stand being anywhere near those  _ things _ ?” Tam had complained to Uri, not caring how awful it might sound... Ignoring the hurt look from Porcmon and the measured stare leveled by Pudúmon.

“Any one of ‘em could kill us, if they wanted!” 

Uri, unhelpfully, had laughed. “I suppose it’s just a good thing that they don’t want to, then!” 

And now, here was Tam with another day of terror in the making.

It started with something big and vaguely llama shaped, but the teeth were wrong - pointy and twisted. Then they were faced with a teeny brute and the big ol’ knife strapped to its side. A knife the little beast referred to by name and had full-blown conversations with (or maybe for).

By the time the day was winding down, Tam had picked a corner to squat in and refused to move. They could watch all takers and brandish a big rock at them if anything came too close. Like a robber crab.

The door opened again and Tam prepared to go into fight mode. Until the sound of sobs and blubbering echoed off the walls, and a big tadpole got tossed in despite protest. 

“ _ Nooo, _ please no. I can’t do this. Please, PLEAAAASE.” He beat on the door, uselessly.

Confused, Tam could only watch.

When it became clear that he’d been left here, the soggy little guy tried to find a hole to squirm through. And when that didn’t work, he tried to dig a new one. But his hands weren’t made for that sort of thing and he only left a thin film of mud over top the stone. 

“Aww, no no no… This wasn’t supposed to happen! I can’t do this. I can’t be here! They’re gonna throw me in the arena! I’m… I’m gonna get mauled! I finally get caught and I’m gonna get mauled and probably die. Just my luck, they throw me out there tonight and--”

He’d been crying the whole time, but there he devolved into pitiful keening.

Tam’s mouth worked up some nerve, even as their body stayed put.   
“Sorry to interrupt.” 

The tadpole near jumped out of his skin, and Tam stepped behind some debris. At some point they must have dropped the rock, because they certainly didn’t have it now, but there wasn’t time to find a suitable replacement. 

And the words kept coming. 

“What’s luck got to do with it?”

“Huh?! Uh… Um…. W-well, if it isn’t luck, it’s one real big, awful conspiracy!”

Tam could agree with that, but this rare time of boldness wouldn’t last and there were too many questions that needed answered.

“How so?”

“Oh, right. Human.  You guys don’t know how things work yet… . So, um…  _ Other _ ‘mon go in and get beat and it’s fine, they do their time and get to go home, but not.. Not Benwylmon. M-my family...They all got to give their all and the bravest just refused to bend and got broke, but the smart ones figured out the pattern everyone else got. Everyone else gave a good show, and even if they were beat, the crowd loved it and wanted them back again later. So they didn’t get stripped of their data, they got to go home until their number came up again, and they got the… the honor or whatever.” 

He took a shuddering breath, then another, before he continued.

“When  _ my _ cousin went up, they went out, put on a good show - a real  _ good  _ show, all flashy-like and.. and the arena boss still said they got the axe. And I’m… I’m nowhere near their level! I’m just a rookie! Just... finagled fluke after fluke, ‘cuz they weren’t real battles, just ruled for points, and I’m slippery an’ all. And now I can’t squirm my way out of this one, so I’ll just... die. My first real battle and I’ll just die.”

Tam took all that in, blinking as they tried to come up with a response. Then blinking more as they came up blank. The boldness had faded. The plan fled with it.

Panic brought Tam round to flattery and - hey - it seemed like it was worth a shot. 

“You sure they were flukes? Obviously, you got something going for you… You’re still here, right?”

That stopped his tears while he considered the idea, and Tam felt relief. Then the waterworks were back again in earnest. 

“Yeah. And it’s just me, now...”

This weird tadpole sure could cry. 

The wailing put Tam’s social anxiety through the roof. They needed some kind of distraction. Anything that’d stop the crying.

“Hey, uh, you know anything about jousting?” 

Tam mentally kicked themself. Why were they trying to talk to this monster? What made him any different from the rest of ‘em? Just that he was pitiful? Stupid!

What an awkward way to change topic, anyway. And to something so hyperspecific! 

“You probably don’t… actually… care about that, uh…”

Floundering as it felt, though, it seemed to work. The tadpole’s worry-brows had relaxed somewhat and he watched Tam intently. So intently that Tam broke eye contact abruptly to avoid the searching. If he searched too long, he’d know they were full of lies.

“Or.. maybe you do…?!”

“A-are you a knight?” 

The question sounded skeptical, almost accusatory. 

Tam’s face went hot and, as they spluttered over the prospect of defending their hobbies, they caught sight of his face in a puddle on the ground. 

The little guy had gone starry-eyed. 

“Not exactly,” Tam began, and his eyes swam again. 

He looked so crestfallen, there, and Tam’s thoughts drifted back to their little sister. Remembered how upset she had been, being set straight about how hard it was to become an astronaut. How Tam hadn’t stood up for her, hadn’t backed her. Wanted nothing to do with the mess and retreated from the ensuing fallout.

Poor girl had cried for weeks.

Even scared and angry, Tam didn’t have the heart to crush this guy in the same way. 

“But I have jousted a time or so, in my own… way... More of a duel, I guess, if you want to be specific-- but the terms are always to joust and I’ve won every time!”

“No!” he gasped. “...Wait, really?”

“Mhmm,” Tam’s pride was infectious, stemming the flow of tears for now. They had the tadpole right where they wanted him. Distracted from the crying thoughts. Less thoughts, less tears, less unpleasant awkward empathy. 

“I can teach you the trick of it, if you want. I can tell you it right now, in fact.”

“J-just like that?!”

Tam nodded and the tadpole leaned in, tiny hands grasping at air.

“The trick is not to flinch.”

“What?”

His dismay sent Tam scrambling to elaborate. 

“First to flinch in a joust loses. They’re already off-balance by the time they meet their foe. So winners don’t flinch.”

It sounded good, at least. Not exactly true for real jousting with horses and such, but it was true enough for Tam’s kind. And that truth let them say it with enough conviction that Benbwyl ate it up. His suspicions never stood a chance.

“Teach me!” came his breathless response, entire body shaking with anticipation.

“Hh--Uh?”

“Please! Take me on as a squire.” 

Tam rubbed the back of their neck, thoroughly flustered. “I don’t know if that’s how that works. Knights take squires, sure, but I’m not exactly a--”

“You might not be a  _ knight _ knight, but you can still teach, right? Y-you could still teach me how to be a knight. Nobody has to know you aren’t one!”

“Yeah? You’d be a hedge knight at best! How could I do that to someone?”

Benbwylmon faltered at that, looking down at his hands in defeat.

“No, please don’t cry again. I’m… I can’t teach you to be a knight, no, but I can still teach you how to joust like I do. Just… just don’t be mad if it doesn’t hold up to what you imagined, okay?”

After a moment, the tadpole nodded. Then practically tackled Tam in a bid to give a big hug. An unfortunately _ slimy _ endeavor.

It took every bit of willpower Tam had not to shrink away or squirm too much. It’d really throw a wrench in all that ‘don’t flinch’ talk if they flinched here and now. Then it was over and the little guy looked up at Tam with hopeful eyes.

“Alright, Ser Human, where do we start?”

“Uh… I guess first we-- Tam. I’m Tam. That’s where we start. Because names are important. And then we… We start with you. All I know about you is your family were cool and you’re slippery and quicker than you look.”

“Yes. Um, right. Well, Ser Tam, I’m Benbwlmon, I’m…” he looked far away for a moment and very much terrified, but Tam placed a hand on his head.

“Nope. That stops today. Okay? In this house we don’t chase the rabbit.”

“Huh?”

“The… It’s a quote. Sorry.”

“Is it a metaphor?”

“Yes. You don’t need to chase a memory because you already lived it. You were there. Focus past it, I guess? Or focus on your feet on the floor or something -anything- that isn’t being  _ there _ .”

Tam tugged at their sleeve as they explained, twisting and untwisting the hem into a wad. It felt like the worst kind of hypocrisy and what if someone called them out on it?

Thankfully, Tam’s role as mentor had already been cemented in the little guy’s mind. Benwylmon was still shaky, but he accepted the words without argument or complaint. The teeniest bit of resolve shone in his eyes and Tam felt more at ease. 

“Yes, Ser Tam. I’ll do my best!”

Or maybe not…  _ ease _ , exactly. 

That ‘ser’ stuff was going to take a lot to get used to.

“Cool. So tell me about yourself, Benbwyl.”

“O-okay. I’m from the Singsong Pond. I-in the Little Locks.”

“...You can sing? That’s pretty cool.”


	13. Keiran, not Kiran

On the one hand, it hurt. Everything hurt.  
The booing. The kicks. The jabs. Getting cut or bit or stabbed… It all sucked and it lingered on him in ways it didn’t for them. The monsters.

On the other hand, he lived. The injuries closed quicker than anything he’d ever seen. They weren’t infected. And so long as he wrapped them up, most were on their way to gone after a night’s sleep.

He was tired, always recovering from something, but unlike back home, he felt stronger for it. Like somehow getting the crap kicked out of him added up in the end. Made him hit harder when he threw his own weight around.

And he was learning more about them, too. How to anticipate their tells. What to do with the information when he read it right. How to fight like they did.… Sorta.   
He couldn’t shoot lasers or anything, but they had a way about them, even when they fought dirty. A flair like that couldn’t last in someone fighting back home. Everything was just so  _ dramatic _ . Like a big, dumb cartoon.

It was almost  _ fun _ .

If he could do what that other kid could, it’d be even better....

Uri could help the monsters fight at their best. If Keiran could do that, he’d be treated just as nice, probably. He’d get to be hyped as the next big rivalry, like that rounder kid and their partner monster. Little frog guy could kick some serious tail when he kept his head in the game. If Keiran could do something even a little like that, at least he’d get to hang out in the same areas as them.

No. Keiran got to be the disappointment. Got to sulk alone, practicing soliloquies in a holding cell meant for twenty...

Keiran couldn’t figure out how to make the monsters stronger. Keiran couldn’t keep out of trouble. Keiran couldn’t make heads or tails of all their ‘digi’ talk...   
Keiran could only work with them as they were and fight alongside them. He could figure out how to get the scrappy ones to rally. He could inspire by acting. 

The underdogs always fought harder when Keiran threw a few punches, too. They even won a few matches with him on their side. But mostly, they just lost....

At worst, he was a danger to himself and a liability to whoever got saddled with him.  
At best, he was a glorified mascot.

He inspected the strange scars on his arms, again. The only ones to have stayed, shaped vaguely like branches and buds, except geometric. And they seemed to radiate out from his hands, the backs of which they framed. Or, well, framed the symbols there. He hadn’t noticed them the night the shock happened, but they appeared within days. Like deep bruises, except they hadn’t gone away in weeks. Even now, they remained darker than his skin.

The symbols - singular symbol repeated once on each hand - were angular, like the branching frame. These, however, were vaguely solar. Or stellar, maybe? Hard to say which. Round sorta bullseye towards the one end, with bits bursting off it and a longer tail at the other end. A little sword-like if he looked at it from the right angle. And he’d had plenty of opportunity to see it from any angle he could want. 

And some he didn’t.

Sprains and breaks healed crazy fast when they got set right - faster than anything else, comparatively - but they sucked the worst while they were still hurt. 

The only thing he could imagine hurting more, he also couldn’t imagine surviving. Those lasers and bomb burst magic bullshit? Of all the things they could do to him, that scared him most. No. Second most. Most terrifying were the ones that could make him fight himself. But he hadn’t had to face any of them yet.

Stomping feet from down the hall got Keiran to roll to his side. Voices with ‘em, words indecipherable through the thick door. The deep one he recognized as belonging to the guard - the nice one that reminded him of Bill. The other, just as loud but belonging to something.. smaller? Bouncier.  
Another human, it turned out. 

Weird. Scrawny guy had a couple scuffs and bruises, but seemed fine. 

“Alright Keiran, this one’s just like you," monster-Bill mumbled in a rush. "Even has the same name, yeah? So look after him, alright? He’s gonna be your new roommate.”

He seemed a bit upset but, before Keiran could ask why (or what he meant by ‘just like you’), the big guy spun on his heel and ducked out. It was just the two humans and a whole lot of awkward silence.

Finally, the new boy whistled through his teeth.

“Well that was something... Wow. Your name’s Kiran, too?”

The way he said that was different - emphasis on the second syllable - but it was close enough that Keiran didn't think to argue.

“Yea--?”

“Nope! Not anymore, it’s not.” 

Seeing anger in the older boy’s eye, the kid involuntarily stepped back. “Not if we’re gonna be roomies, I mean. That’d be weird...  _ Kiran _ , and we both go  _ ‘Yeah?’ _ Nope! Definitely don't want that.”

Keiran scowled at the newcomer, not sure yet whether he wanted to punch the little twerp enough to get up off the cot. But the kid had a point. That would get annoying. Fast.

“Hmm….” The smaller boy appraised him, soon becoming as ridiculous as he could manage. Noises, faces, dramatic body language. He was going to be a handful and then some, Keiran thought. Kinda like Rick: noodly, silly, and dramatic.

Damn, he missed the boys.

“MMMMmmmmm--InamehimIkeephim.”  


“What?!”

Kiran cackled at Keiran and when he'd finished (tears in his eyes) he shrugged. “I got nothing, ‘cept that you’re big and our names both start with K. A big…. ‘K’ isn’t much to work with. Can’t really call you ‘kangaroo’; that’s dumb. You’re not even from there, I think.”

Before Kiran could delve any further into that bout of weird, Keiran chuckled.  
“So, that makes you the little K, yeah?”

Kiran’s entire demeanor lit up like a theater marquis and Keiran braced for whatever absurdity might follow. 

“YOOOOO! We’re Dr. Seuss-ing it! Themed nicknames, for the win. You’re now Big K.” 

“... You what?”

“Big K, Little K, what begins with K?”  
The smaller boy chattered in merry sing-song - mostly to himself - and not for the first time and not for the last, ‘Big K’ wondered just what he was getting himself into. 

This Kiran really didn’t have an off-switch. It was on, more on, and through the roof. He spent the next twenty minutes bouncing around the room, trying every cot Keiran wasn't using and yapping all the while.

At a loss for anything else, Keiran rolled over and tried to get some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! It's been a while, huh? Hope this wild year's been treating you well (or as well as can be expected).
> 
> Updates are gonna be scattered for a while, so thanks in advance for your understanding. Catch you on the flip side!


	14. Dropping Some Eaves, or Welcome to a Bad Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are just going along, and the K's are worried by the end...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chunk with a shift in POV midway through. A bit of a change of pace, but it just didn't seem right to split the two segments into their own chapters...
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!

“When they said they’d found humans I expected strange creatures, but I certainly didn’t expect, well…. That.”

“One of them is on board with things,” a cheerful Lalamon supplied. 

“Yeah… Yeah….” the first one - a Reppamon - shuffled uncomfortably. “Wonder why the others won’t share their power?”

This was a nice lounge. Full of comfortable seats and big screens to watch the matches on. For the ones who’d earned their way out of holding - who’d proved themselves not infected - it was a place to eagerly await their fights. They were the ‘good ones’ as far as the Arena was concerned. 

They showed up when their lot had been drawn (a few even before that). They fought hard, and often. They loved the sport of it - still believed in the proud tradition of the continent.

They’d curb-stomp Wheezmon in a heartbeat if they knew the little draft-dodger was about.

“Well, the stories say that humans are prone to fey moods; maybe they just haven’t been properly impressed? Maybe we gotta work harder…” 

The Lalamon settled into their friend’s mane to watch an ongoing match. A techniques showcase, in which a clustered mess of rookies faced off against a champion. Everyone knew who’d win, but matches like this were great teaching tools.

A particularly sharp gentle-mon scoffed and downed a shot of some suspiciously alcoholic-looking drink. Wheezmon had never seen him before, but he looked to be a dark digimon. Or maybe a neutral virus type. Hard to say his attribute at a glance.

“Work harder?!” the stranger groused. “Haven’t we worked hard enough?” 

He turned his stool so he could lean back against the bar, disgruntled face barely holding back a snarl. “Our granparents’ granparents talked about when the Catalysts left, and how everyone worked so hard to bring them back. How long they’ve been gone, those Catalysts? And now we get humans, who’re supposed to be able to do something similar, and they don’t help? How much harder are we supposed to work, ‘uh? How much?!” 

He scanned the lounge crowd for affirmation. And he got it. In their eyes and their furtive glances and quiet grumbles.

“No. They’re just not sufficiently motivated,” he smirked. “We just gotta make it clear that it’s in their best interest to pitch in.”

Even being invisible, Wheezmon hid his face in his bandanna and tried his best not to shake. The malice coming off that guy was infectious, and something was very wrong about it. Wheezmon could feel it in his whiskers - the pressure had built and now something had to give. Something would slip and everything was about to tilt on its head.

The earlier showcase match ended and a voice went over the PA calling for the next group. A few of these mon perked up and went to get ready. As they excused themselves, Wheezmon watched and listened to the rest of the room and realized it was time to come up with a plan. There would be harm done if nobody did something. 

But who could he tell? If he showed himself, he’d be caught again. He’d probably die this time around... But he couldn’t possibly protect all of the humans on his own! 

Well, the one human would be fine - folk liked him, after all.

The rest seemed to struggle.   
Only one of the struggling children had matched with a partner. Only one, to one ‘mon. And while those bonds were already strong, their strength was still so weak. It was only a matter of time before something happened. And then what would happen to everyone else? They would be back to one very capable child, kept very separate from the ones that needed help the most.

Maybe... Maybe he could become a partner? 

Well, he’d have to, if he was going to help any of them get out.. And how did the stories go? Fated meetings and some such? 

Wheezmon had only met the one human, thus far. Face to face, anyway - a meeting didn’t count if the other party hadn’t seen it, after all…. So his human would probably have to be that flighty boy, Kiran, unless he met another human in the near future.

A twinge of dissatisfaction came with that thought. Kiran was friendly enough, but that didn’t mean he’d make a good partner. And they knew nothing about each other.…   
Wheezmon was worse, of course. He was hardly anyone’s first choice in a fight and for good reason.... Shoot. How long had he been skulking around, avoiding exactly that? He was no good as anybody’s partner. Untrustworthy, scared little weasel he was…  
This was a terrible idea. How could he possibly think--?

The screen cut to another match’s contenders, and there the boy was - all smiles and pep and mischief-wiggles, even in the face of stiff competition. He’d be up against a trio of Unimon with three Mushroomon on his side. None of them looked particularly confident. One of them sneered at the kid and for the smallest moment Kiran looked sad. It just tugged at the heartstrings, it did. Worse when he shrugged it off and winked at the opposing team.

No. No, that just wouldn’t do.   
Nobody thought much of these kids. Nobody was willing to give them a chance, and that just wouldn’t do! Couldn’t make a partner of somebody you weren’t willing to go out on a limb for. It wouldn’t be right.

That Kiran boy didn’t treat Wheezmon any different than anybody else, and that had meant a lot. So it’d have to be that bright-eyed ball of mischief. He hoped.

Now all that was left was to watch and wait. Let the lounge clear out a bit, pop back over to Holding to say hello and, in the meantime, try real hard not to sniffle or shake hard enough to knock something down. 

Yep. What an excellent plan.

********************************  
Humans without a partner monster were kept completely separate from general populace, now. Too many human injuries, especially to the tall one. And, adding insult to injury, mealtimes were the only contact they had with digimon outside of matches. 

Naturally, the boys had learned to differentiate who was bringing the food by the sound of their steps as they rounded that first corner, and by their voices on the days they were chatty. This particular guard -- the friendliest, and the one Big K had taken to calling Bill -- was always chatty. You could hear him coming three halls over, from all the talking he did…

Today was no different, and soon the food slot rattled from his fumbling.

“For creatures with such power, you guys sure are fragile…” He mused, squatting in front of the door and trying not to put his thumb in their food. He failed, naturally, but he really did his best.   
“Is that why you aren’t any help in a match? Because you’re scared you’ll be hurt?”

“Hey!” Big K huffed. “I help! I… I try, at least.”

“Okay, okay. You do… just… it’s not that much, yanno? You humans are supposed to be real strong, and you’re kinda like throwing a rookie at an ultimate. It’s a little disappointing... but maybe you’re just a real late bloomer? There are even some Champs like that…”

The digimon finally managed the small latch and slid open the hatch. He couldn’t get his hand through, and it always seemed like he had to think about his options when he realized such. So there was a moment before he settled the trays down and slid them through.

‘Bill’ then settled himself to lay on the floor, head resting on his arms as he peeked through the opening. When he saw Kiran, he waved. 

“What about you, little guy?” 

“Oh, uh, you know. Just hasn’t felt right… Could you imagine? Giving all that power away to some rando? It would be weird!” 

Little K laughed, breezy and chipper as ever, but he made a face as he pulled the trays in the rest of the way. “Heh. Didja give us a little more rice today? Trays feel different!”

“No. And I’m not about to start, either.” The guard closed the latch and tromped off with none of his usual friendliness. 

Big K only came away from his cot after the guy left. “He’s really not happy with you.”

With a shrug, Little K set down his tray and got to eating. “Not my fault he can’t take a joke.”

“Not his fault you got terrible jokes… Scoot over.”

The younger boy didn’t get the chance before Big K flopped. Some fussing and shoving later, the two settled into their mealtime ritual. It was just plain rice, and they had no utensils, but they’d made a game of making loose balls of it and trying to cram as much of it in their mouth as possible before it fell apart.

The guard had been gone a while before another voice drifted through the air. There. In the room with them.  
“I was almost afraid I would not find you again…” 

Big K choked and put some rice out his nose, then stumbled upright, putting himself between the smaller boy and the source of the voice. He was ready to fight. 

Then a familiar face appeared, glancing around furtively and wringing his paws.

“Wheezmon!” Little K jumped to his feet and waved. “How’s it hanging?”

“I’m sorry?!”

“It means, ‘What’s new in your life? How you been?’ Stuff like that.”

“Oh. I see. Many things, I myself am well, physically, but not so much, emotionally. Been worrying and worrying about what to do. I finally figured something out, though, so there’s something good, I think!”

“What was that, then?” Big K huffed, still scowling. He’d finally put his fists down, but it wasn’t enough to calm Wheezmon’s paw wringing. 

“Translation,” Little K started before dropping into his best Keiran impression, “Tha’s probably great, but I don’t know you so I’m not gonna say so. Please tell us about the outside world.”

Big K huffed again and tossed some pocket lint at him, but Little K just giggled and held Wheezemon’s paws. “But really, what did you figure out?”

The encouragement drew a small smile from the digimon.

“Firstly, I believe that whatever they need you humans for, was why the Arena was made in the first place. Which is excellent forethought and they meant to train us to fight together, I think.”  
“Sounds a bit of a stretch,” Big K frowned, “but go on…” 

Little K shushed him, earning himself a headlock, but he just grinned until Big K gave a smile of his own. They sat there a bit, then looked to Wheezmon expectantly.

“Ah,” he nodded and relayed the talk and plots he’d heard over the last week. So many disgruntled monsters, so much confusion and many harsh words… And as he went, the boys’ faces shifted from amicable curiosity to concern and fear. 

Big K freed Little K, got to his feet, and began to pace. 

“So you said they talked about teaching us a lesson? How, uh, um…?” Kiran trailed off, watching Big K.

“There was talk of an actual battle,” Wheezmon sighed. “As opposed to a game or a challenge, as most disputes here are settled, anymore. Tonight, or early tomorrow, but…”

His dark eyes swirled with concern.

“This time will be entirely serious. There was talk of you facing Legatemon’s wrath, or one of his personal guard stepping into the fray. Many here wish to see you punished, and I don’t think that’s fair. I do think you’re doing your best to help us. We really just don’t know how to help you.” 

“Oh… Oh,” Kiran jammed his hands in his pockets like he’d seen Big K do. Kept them from fidgeting with things while he thought. 

Then, “So how do we stop them?”

“I.. I don’t think we can. But I will help however I can. I’ll… I’ll even come with you for the next match, to make sure-- I’m sure I can be of use.”

“But what if you only get hurt? What if you can’t help?”

“I… may have considered such a thing… But I have ways of avoiding it.”

If he had planned to elaborate, it never came. Wheezmon straightened, head turned towards the door. Then he was gone from sight. 

“I was not here,” he whispered.

Heavy footfalls echoed from down the hall. Different than the bigness of the usual guards. Scarier.

These feet were marching.  
These feet had purpose.  
They stopped in front of the cell.

“Alright, children,” came a new voice from beyond the door. “We’re going to try something different today. You don’t seem to… appreciate... the kind of bind we’re all in. And we don’t appreciate your lack of... care.” The voice started as a purr, but ended dangerously close to a growl.

Little K stumbled back when it entered, and Big K tensed. The creature was tall - taller even than their massive guard - but sleek. Human enough at a glance that registering its reptilian eyes was jarring. One could imagine equally inhuman teeth behind its tall collar.

“To that end, you have a match in ten minutes.” It smiled, eyes assuming a gleeful shape, but the malice therein was unmistakable. 

“Get up.”


End file.
